


Nightrunner: Thorns Among Roses

by BeelzWrites



Series: Nightrunner Extended Series [1]
Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Gods, Horror, IU - Freeform, In-Universe RPF, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Mystery, Nightmares, Prophecy, Romance, Swords, Work In Progress, in-universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeelzWrites/pseuds/BeelzWrites
Summary: The Watchers are on another quest: A message from Illior - the God of luck and madness (and Nightrunners) - sends our heroes up north into snowy Mycena. Their task? Protect Queen Elani as she and her delegates entreat with the reclusive Hazadrialfaie. But things aren't sitting right with Seregil... It's all going too smoothly. So why do these nightmares still haunt Seregil in his sleep? What is it that he can see that nobody else is seeing?!Takes place a few years after the events of Book 7. Read this as if you were reading the 8th installment of the series (as that is how I have intended it to be read).





	1. Prologue: Vaene Gareth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Feedback is always appreciated. I will be feeding the story out bit by bit as I write it, so please stay tuned for more!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y2WSKU2Nig

**Prologue**

**Vaene Gareth**

Vaene Gareth stepped into the morning chill, his breath visible as he sighed and rolled his eyes. The frost had come early again this year, meaning the crops would have to be harvested early. Again. Having lived the quarter century of his life entirely in Mycena, Vaene knew that the weather would not change its will for anyone, but this was ridiculous. “How many curses must I endure?” Vaene whined, taking little satisfaction in the icy crunch of brown grass beneath his worn boots.

Wrapping his cloak around him tighter, he allowed himself a single shiver before setting his expression into the stern visage that told every brat and laborer close enough to endure it that he was the Master of these lands. No matter how desolate they happened to be. Already impoverished as they were, the stores in their larder were dwindling dangerously low. When the snows came, they would have to scrounge up enough resources to feed the twenty or so people who lived within his ramshackle borders. Less than that, now, thankfully, Vaene thought bitterly, picking up his stride.

Last winter, two whole families picked up and left for Skala, determined to find their fortunes in that country. Now that the seemingly endless war against Plenimar had finally, well… ended, no sane person would want to stay here in Mycena, where silver was scarce and food was expensive. This left Vaene’s property with fewer mouths to feed, but also fewer hands to till the soil and cut down the trees.

The forest was literally closing in around him.

Vaene kicked fallen twigs from his path as he made his way to the gardens. The archway leading into that pampered sanctuary was the only stonework on the entire 200 acres that Vaene and his family owned. Everything else was made of Mycenian timber: oak, ash, and pine. Gods knew there was plenty of it around. Vaene begrudged a chuckle that came out more of a growl, and he planted the heel of his boot into another wrist-thick log. The wood splintered under the pressure, and Vaene grunted in approval. “You can trip over the shit,” he huffed.

Not to mention his family hadn’t employed a decent stone mason in Vaene’s lifetime. Some nights he would lay awake, listening to the whistle of the wind, bemoaning the lack of brick and mortar that would have kept out the drafts of even a lesser baron. But his lands were too far up North, hugging the rim of the mountains like a mangy dog hiding in a corner from the cutting gales of winter. And the coffers had long ago been stripped of any funds that could be used to redo the Gareth House.

The Gareth Barn… that’s what the servants called the place behind Vaene’s back. They knew better than to breathe that name aloud. The last time Vaene had overheard the misnomer, he had bloodied the man’s nose with his fist and forced him to sleep in the actual barn for a night. Vaene grinned at the memory. Old Thalor never dared call it the Gareth Barn again. Not even in hushed tones among friends.

Still, Vaene allowed himself to dream. Of one day owning a grand house made of stone, that didn’t creak and settle every time a paltry breeze happened by it. He daydreamed of whole chickens being roasted over a fire, and of spiced bread, and soup that wasn’t just hot water with a meager ration of lentils tossed in. Vaene clutched his shoulders and thought of soft, warm furs on cold, dark nights. He wanted to wake up to the smell of eggs and cheese on toasted bread. Instead, he itched all night long in rough, ugly wool, and rolled over on his pallet to a hearty breakfast of soggy oats.

Though sometimes he would sneak into his mother’s stash of honey from the cupboard to sweeten the slop, risking the inevitable chiding when she found out he “wasted” the precious syrup. He could already picture her threatening him with the repercussions in his mind’s eye; that he wouldn’t be allowed a single drop on his name-day cakes when the time came, which is what the honey was originally gathered for. Vaene snorted. For all her blustering, his mother would still part with a drizzle of the honey for his name-day. She really was a sweet woman at heart, even if her sharp tongue would vehemently deny it.

Vaene had been absently strolling, deep in his miserable thoughts, and was all the way into the garden without even realizing it. He was greeted by the collection of vibrant, prized roses - the only things in this entire damned countryside that his family took any pride in. The bushes wrapped around the whole of the garden in a thick wall, shaped like a horseshoe. Each one was a deep, flaming red, and Vaene felt a smile crack onto his face despite his perpetual melancholy.

He could see that his mother had already been out this morning. Each dawn, when the frosts were assured, Selenah Gareth would brace the cold, cup each individual rose bud between her palms and melt the frost away with her breath. When snow fell from the mountain peaks, she and the gardeners would cover the entirety of the garden with a stitched together shroud. And each summer, mother would toil gladly in the dirt and mud, spreading out a homemade mush that she claimed made the ground fertile and the roses grow strong.

Vaene knew that it was mostly made out of shit. Selenah herself would gather it into a bucket from the horses’ stalls and the hole behind the Gareth House where everybody, even Vaene himself, went to relieve themselves. She would play the part of apothecary, throwing in a pinch of this and dash of that. But at the end of the day, it was still just shit.

And yet, Vaene admitted, if only in his mind, it worked. The roses grew strong, their stems rigid and their petals soft and silky to the touch. Vaene reached out with his gloved hand and cupped one of the buds. “Mother really does love you,” he sighed, scornfully. Vaene clenched his fist as tightly as he could manage, strangling the petals in his grasp. When he tore his hand away, he threw the flower into the mud to wilt.

Vaene inhaled the frozen air and studied his fingers. Somehow, a thorn from the rose had managed to pierce through the cheap leather of his thin gloves, and grazed his index finger. A dark spot blossomed, and Vaene balled his fist up again to stave off the biting sting. “Serves me right,” he groaned. “You roses are the strongest members of the Gareth family after all.”

Pivoting on his heels, Vaene faced the middle of the garden. Adding insult to injury, he stood corrected in his previous assumption that the archway entrance into the garden was the only stonework on their property. Here, in the middle of the garden, was a wide stone well. So large and round it was that you could stretch your arms out as far as they could go across its diameter, and your fingertips would only brush the inner walls of the well. Vaene sneered, and sauntered toward it.

“You don’t count,” he spat with his usual vinegar. “You’re more made of thorns than stone.” Vaene was secure in that statement; ebony thorns seemed to erupt from deep within the well, and cascade down the sides, clinging to it like treacherous, black vipers. Vaene perched his hands on an edge of the well that had no immediate thorns to prick him, and proceeded with his morning ritual. Sucking in as much mucus from the back of his dripping nose as he could, he boisterously spat out a clear glob of snot down into the dark maw.

As always, he couldn’t hear the splat.

The well was much too deep. Generations of Gareths before him had desperately dug deeper and deeper into the permafrost, searching for water. But the well had run dry a long time ago. Now all that was left was a thicket of thorns that stubbornly grew up from the mysterious bottom. How the vines survived was beyond Vaene’s imagination, though he didn’t care enough to really give it much thought. “One of these days,” he threatened into the abyss. “I’m going to pour oil down you and throw a torch in. Then we’ll see how far down you really go.” Vaene angrily spun around and stomped off. He didn’t have any exact reason for why he hated that well so much. If he had to give an answer, it would be because the lands he inherited were named after it.

Ivywell.

What a stupid name. There was no ivy in Ivywell. Only mud, rot, and thorns.

And a derelict house on the cusp of dying.

Vaene subconsciously took a detour to the family graveyard. He knew all too well that he would most likely be the final Gareth to rule this wasteland. By next winter, if the promise of a better life in Skala didn’t tempt away the last of his subjects, then the food shortages would. And without workers, there would be absolutely no crops and no reason to stay. He and his mother would most likely end up paupers on the Gold Road.

His father wouldn’t have to worry about that. He would be dead before long. When Vaene was only twelve years old, his father - then Lord Talcott Gareth - had been thrown from his horse and broken his back. At first, he could still rule with some dignity, being hoisted around on a cart if he had to leave the House. But after a few years, with the loss of his legs and the pain of his mis-set spine by an underqualified Drysian, his spirit broke too. Now he languished in bed day in and day out, barely speaking unless he had to. That was why Vaene was now the Baron of Ivywell. His father was in no condition to do anything. He even shat himself in bed without telling his lone caretaker he needed to go. He had reverted back to infancy in all but appearance.

Vaene placed his toes so that they stood flush against the hole in the graveyard. To avoid the nuisance of mining out the permafrost, they had already dug his father’s grave. Now it was just a waiting game until they lowered him into it.

A tear ran down Vaene’s cheek, and he found himself sniffing sorrowfully. It took him a moment, but he managed to burn away the tears with the pyre of his anger. Sometimes he was certain it was the only thing that kept him warm anymore.

“Vaene! Vaene!”

Vaene shook his head violently, and pictured the sadness being rattled from his head, out through his ears.

“Radbury,” he said without turning around. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my title?”

“I ain’t never gonna do that, Vaene, and you know it,” Radbury smirked, trotting up to Vaene’s side. If Vaene could call anybody a friend and confidant in this godsforsaken barren, it would be Radbury. They’d known each other since they were children. To this day, Vaene persists that the only difference between them was Vaene had simmered and steamed with hatred at his lot in life, whereas Radbury seemed to be content with living in squalor. Radbury’s narrow face faltered for a moment as Vaene turned to glare at him. “You been cryin’?”

“What do you want?” Vaene shouted, knocking his shoulder into his friend’s. “

Came to tell you,” Radbury started, trailing behind Vaene as he exited the graveyard. “Some important-looking people here to see you.”

“Oh Gods, if it’s Dadrin about the fucking river, I’ve told him a thousand times there isn’t even any fish there for us to steal to begin with! I swear, when I see him, I’m going to ram my boot up his-”

“Nah, nah, Vaene,” Radbury interrupted, his mischievous smile returning. “Way more important than ol’ Dadrin. They’ve got gold chains and everything.” Vaene ground to halt, wide-eyed. “Yesser, Skalan by the looks of them. Horses nicer than any I’ve seen. They wanna speak to Lord Gareth, but I know better than to lead them to his bedchamber. So I came straight looking for you.”

“Skala?” Vaene gawked, not believing his ears. He took off in a jog with Radbury laughing after him.

Sure enough, an entire turma of soldiers was waiting at the gates, looking none too happy with being told to wait in the cold. One of the more official men had already dismounted and was pacing with his arms crossed over his chest. Vaene felt his stomach lurch, and he nearly sent Radbury off to fetch his mother. He swallowed the knot in his throat and approached in the most formal manner he could muster.

“Welcome to Ivywell,” he called out, still a distance away. “What brings Skalan soldiers to my home?”

“Are you Master Gareth?” the officer inquired, his neutral expression carved out of marble. “

I am Vaene Gareth,” Vaene announced as he stopped, leaving a respectfully large span between him and the man. He took in the sight with his own two eyes, but his mind still couldn’t believe it. He rifled through all of the worst possible scenarios, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. “My father is Master Gareth, but he is… indisposed. Won’t you please step in out of the cold.”

The officer raised his hand, and Vaene couldn’t tamp down the envy that sprung up as he took in those immaculately fashioned gloves. Despite this, it was obvious that the man had not come to mince words, and the mounted soldiers behind him fiddled with the swords at their belts in a nonchalant yet menacing manner. Vaene gulped again.

In a tone that betrayed the bored practice of his job, the officer began, raising his voice so that it carried through the whole courtyard. “I am here at the behest of Queen Elani, Sovereign and Protector of Skala, bearing her warmest regards.”

Vaene doubted that very much.

The man continued. “It is her Royal Majesty’s wish that the Lord and Heir of Ivywell, upon the honor and privilege of receiving the title ‘Baron of Mirrormoon’, that all of his previous lands and holdings be assimilated into Skalan stewardship, and also be the recipient of tribute in compensation equal to this new rank and title.”

The officer paused with a gesture, and Vaene looked on, aghast, as the soldiers parted for two women in armor carrying a large wooden chest by its iron handles. They dropped it down at Vaene’s feet with a heavy clunk, and Vaene heard the telltale jostle of coin from within. One of the women bent down, undid the front latch of the box, and lifted the lid.

Vaene’s legs gave out from under him, and he clattered to his knees, soiling his best britches in the wet dirt. The important-looking man started speaking again as the women withdrew without ceremony, but Vaene wasn’t listening. He gingerly lifted his trembling hand and dipped his fingertips into the glittering gold coins. The precious metal shifted to make room, and his hand became buried up to his forearm before he could so much as scratch the bottom of the chest. All of the air was stolen from his lungs. With his mouth flopped open like a fish’s, Vaene stared up in disbelief at the man.

“Wh-what…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. “What did my father do to deserve this?”

“Your father?” the officer huffed incredulously. He pulled a scroll from his sleeve, waving it in front of Vaene so that the Royal Seal of Skala caught the sunlight. Very suddenly, it appeared to Vaene, that this officer’s courtly manners had been stretched thin.

“Listen, boy. I love my Queen and country, but she sent me and my warriors trudging up here through Mycena to this piss bucket of a hold to deliver this.” To make his point, he kicked the chest, and it rattled with the force. “And now that I’ve done that, I’m going to take my men and get the fuck out of here before winter starts in earnest, and we’re forced to wait for the Goldwine to thaw before I can make it back to Cirna. Where, by the way, a lovely little whore promised she’d be waiting for my triumphant return. So shut your podunk mouth. Collect your gold. And get back to fucking your horses or whatever it is you lot do to pass the time here.”

Stunned, Vaene felt the anger rising in his chest, and he burst to his feet, unhitching the thrasher chain that hung at his belt. But before he could say a word, the officer threw the scroll into Vaene’s hands. “Here, read for yourself,” he said with no small amount of contempt. “We’re done here.”

As the horses thundered away, Vaene tore the scroll open haphazardly. The parchment crinkled in his white-knuckled grip as he skimmed it over, his whole body quivering. Vaene’s face contorted into a mask of fury, and he hissed through clenched teeth:

“Who the fuck is Alec?!”


	2. Chapter 1: The Rhiminee Cat

**Chapter 1**

**The Rhiminee Cat**  

Alec sneezed so violently that strands of wheat blond hair pulled out from his tight braid. He sighed in exasperation, and set about to fix his hair back into place. 

“Someone must be thinking about you,” Seregil teased, coming up from behind and resting his chin on the other’s shoulder. 

Alec shrugged him off with a playful grin. “You’re getting in my way.”

“As per usual,” Seregil said, a sly smile of his own creasing his lips. He flopped backwards into a pile of cushions that teetered precariously in front of the fireplace. Seregil took a moment to admire his Talimenios; a favorite pastime of his. The sacred bond that was between them was something stronger than just love. At 24 years old, the younger man and Seregil had already been through a lifetime of adventures. And Alec had really grown into himself in all that time. He still had that boyish charm that could disarm all the nobles at court, but it was now paired with an air of adult masculinity that made Seregil swoon all the more. He had learned to cherish both staring down at his lover from above as equally as staring up at him from below. The daydream stirred Seregil’s heart, and he splayed out wider across the pillows on instinct.

“Good thoughts, I hope,” Alec mumbled, finishing up and giving himself a last look in the mirror. 

“Hmm?” Seregil lazily intoned, breaking out of his revery. With a groan, he kicked his feet up and sprung to a standing position. Alec faced him and opened his arms invitingly, in which Seregil gladly embraced.

“I hope someone is thinking good thoughts about me,” Alec explained, his face barely an inch away from Seregil’s. Alec’s Dalnan virtue had lessened of late, but he was still superstitious about such things. “I don’t want any bad omens right before a job.”

“That’s for sure,” Seregil agreed in a low, husky voice. “Don’t want things to get harder.”

Alec did not miss the double meaning of Seregil’s words. He squinted mischievously and blew a hot breath into Seregil’s face. Seregil’s loose, raven black hair billowed around his forehead, and the older man recoiled.

“Bilary’s balls,” he cursed, wafting his hand in front of his nose. “We simply must teach Ema how to cook something other than salted cod.”

“You wastrel!” Alec laughed in mock offence. “Here, let me.” He roughly spun Seregil around before tugging at Seregil’s hair and started to braid it in a similar fashion to his own. “I heard the Rhiminee Cat eats nothing but salted cod, and that’s why he smells the way he does.”

“I’ve heard the Rhiminee Cat has a hunchback and no less than thirteen boils on his fearsome, ugly face,” Seregil added.

“Yes, but at least those two aren’t true.”

“Hey - ah!” Alec yanked Seregil’s head back into place.

“Hold still, tali,” Alec mewed. “This isn’t supposed to hurt.”

Seregil chuckled deep in his throat. “You know I like it when it hurts a little.” He pushed his hips back into Alec’s crotch, rolling his butt from side to side. The jolt of electric lust that shot across their Talimenios bond was enough to make Alec gasp in spite of himself. He had finished with the braid, but Seregil remained where he was, swaying his hips.

“What has gotten into you?” Alec asked. It was his turn to rest his chin onto his lover’s shoulder. He had to stoop a little bit to reach. When was it that he had grown taller than Seregil? It happened so gradually, neither of them could pinpoint the exact time. Seregil leaned his head back, arching his spine, and attempted to nip Alec’s ear with his teeth. Alec jerked away, snorting through his nostrils.

“Alec,” Seregil whined, giving his voice a tantalizing lilt. “Let’s not go nightrunning tonight. Let’s stay in and play.”

Alec furrowed his brow. “Now I know you’re not feeling well.” He placed his palm against Seregil’s forehead, testing for fever. “You’ve been chomping at the bit all week for someone to burgle. Nearly wore tread marks in our carpet with all your restless pacing. And now you don’t want to go out?”

Seregil could sense he was losing this battle. He withered in disappointment. “Remember that time we spent in the log cabin? In the woods? No jobs, no politics, or responsibilities. Just us and the wilderness? Let’s do that again. I miss that.”

“You miss it now, but as soon as we go out there you’ll be bored within a week.”

Seregil didn’t want to admit that Alec was right. He looked away, tight lipped. Alec caught the betraying expression and grew more worried.

“You’ve not been having any nightmares, have you?” Alec mused, slowly parsing out the truth. “This sudden desire to pick up and run…. Do you have some reason to want to flee the city?”

Seregil’s lack of response was the only answer he needed.

“Tali,” Alec began, genuine concern creeping into his voice. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong.” It was not a question, but a demand.

Seregil paused another beat, then shook his head. “It’s nothing, Alec. Just a feeling. Ever since I woke up this morning, it’s like a stone is in my belly. Something… big is going to happen. I can feel it, I can taste it, as if it’s on my tongue.”

Alec let the quiet settle in between them. Seregil would never say such things lightly. But the night was passing quickly, and this job had particular importance for them. Alec positioned himself again behind his lover, but this time he pushed his own hips forward. Seregil had been lost in his premonition and started with a surprise at the feeling. 

“We can talk more about that later,” Alec whispered into the pinna of Seregil’s ear. The soft breath tickled, and a delightful shiver ran up Seregil’s spine. “Right now, we have to do this job involving Ysmay. And when we get back… I promise you, something very big will happen.” Alec dipped his hands beneath the hem of Seregil’s loins and grinned past his teeth. “And you can be sure that you’ll be able to taste that too.”

Alec tightened his grip for a split second before pulling away and dashing for the stairs. Seregil nearly tripped over himself after the man, and they laughed together, calling each other names as they broke into the gathering darkness of midnight. 

A few years ago, it was common knowledge that the Rhiminee Cat had died. When he resurfaced and continued his dastardly trade, pilfering for the nobles, nobody truly believed it was the same Cat. Just another thief that had seen an opportunity to get work by taking on the name of the most illustrious villain in Skala. But this “new” Rhiminee Cat still got results just as effectively, and nobody seemed to care or question so long as he delivered.

They were all wrong, as the upper crust of Rhiminee was wont to be. The Rhiminee Cat was and always had been Seregil from the very beginning. He had taken great pains to paint himself as a moderately rich fop of no consequence. If any of the citizens of the sprawling city ever found out this little secret - that Seregil was much more than what met the eye - he and Alec really would have to retreat back to their cabin in the wilderness to avoid all the backlash. Seregil had stolen from nearly every high ranking noble in Rhiminee, knew the layout of their houses like the back of his hand, and was privy to more juicy secrets than he would care to admit.

True, in recent years, Alec also played the part of the Cat on occasion. Seregil would allow Alec to go on some of the more minor jobs by himself, confident in the man’s ever impressive skill at nightrunning. Tonight was different, however. Tonight was personal. And it was a job that required both Seregil and Alec’s attention. 

Keeping to the shadows, Alec chanced a bit of conversation with his partner in crime. “I still don’t believe it,” he murmured, just loud enough for Seregil to hear. “Ysmay? Blackmailing one of her own girls? It’s not like her.”

“I don’t believe it either,” Seregil agreed, casting his eyes this and way that, finding the coast to be clear. 

“I smell a trap.”

“I wouldn’t go that far just yet. It may be that someone wants to ruin Ysmay’s good name by implicating her in something. And they want the Rhiminee Cat to find out any dirt he can to aid in achieving that goal.”

“If that’s the case,” Alec said, stopping in an alleyway, “are we really going to deliver? She’s our friend, Seregil!”

“Just who do you think I am,” Seregil scoffed, hands to his hips. “We’re not above burgling our friends - ”

“I know that!”

“- And if it means finding something incriminating on Ysmay’s part, better it be us than someone with lesser morals, right?” Alec said nothing, his expression hidden behind his black mask. “Let’s say we do find something,” Seregil pondered aloud. “We’ll then be in a position to… counsel Ysmay about her behavior. As friends. And if we don’t find anything at all - ”

“Then the Rhiminee Cat can falsify something innocuous for the employer, minimizing the damage that can be done,” Alec finished.

Seregil tapped the side of his head. “Now you’re thinking, tali.”

“Well sorry, just a few minutes ago my blood was centered somewhere other than my brain.” The comment came out a little more scathing than Alec had intended, but Seregil didn’t seem to mind as he took off again.

Ysmay did in fact have a reputation; one as an exquisite host in the Street of Lights, Rhiminee’s own hub of gambling, drinking, and other pleasures of the flesh. Her house had a fair number of regular customers, and all of the girls in her employ were artists in their craft. Ysmay was a wealthy woman, all things considered, and had managed to follow in the footsteps of her aunt, Lady Kylith, in entertaining anybody with enough coin to afford the services she offered. The sting of Lady Kylith’s murder years ago could still be felt in Seregil’s heart, but Ysmay filled the Lady’s void in the Street of Lights for the other nobles with accomplished ease.

Seregil anticipated that the most difficult part of tonight’s job was going to be getting in and out without being seen. Even at this late hour, the Street of Lights was blazing with activity. Raucous laughter, drunks staggering down the street, a fight breaking out in one of the alleyways. With so many people about, it was nearly impossible not to be seen. Seregil and Alec were not dressed entirely in black this time, just in case they were discovered. Quickly throwing off their disguises and coming up with some excuse could be enough to cover their asses if trouble reared. Just Baron Seregil and Baron Alec in the Street of Lights, attempting to play a prank on a friend! That wouldn’t be too far from what was expected of them.

Regardless, Seregil kept his poniard tucked into his boot. There were more than drunkards and gamblers in this part of town. Footpads and other thieves were all too common.

Thankfully, the Rhiminee Cat knew his way around Lady Ysmay’s house. Seregil and Alec encountered no trouble sneaking to the back and climbing to the top floor from the outside. 

Balanced precariously on the ledge of a window, they came to what they knew to be Ysmay’s personal chambers. If she had anything worth hiding, it would be hidden here. Seregil inspected the window. All was dark on the inside, and he could make out a posh bed and a few dressers in the distance. Running his fingers along the edges, Seregil felt for any potential traps that may spring, but apparently Ysmay was less concerned with robbers breaking into her house than some of the more paranoid members of Rhiminee. A good sign, Seregil thought to himself. The more security a person has, the more plausible their guilt.

Alec hung back as Seregil jiggered the latch of the window and swung it open. It didn’t give so much as a squeak. But Seregil was still cautious as he stepped inside. He was about to chance bringing out his lightstone to illuminate the way when Alec rapped on the window pane with three sharp knocks.

Seregil whirled around in time to see a match flicker into life. He cursed under his breath and froze, confident that the shadows still concealed him from view. He traced the path of the flame with his eyes as it settled into a lantern, and the room lit up a bit more.

Ysmay lifted the lantern so that her face was revealed, glowing in the darkness. She had been sitting in an armchair in the very furthermost corner of the room, directly in the path of Seregil and the bedroom door. No exit that way. Alec was right, Seregil growled in his mind. It was a trap after all… Even one I never expected.

He was about to turn tail and fling himself out the window when Ysmay spoke.

“Rhiminee Cat?” she asked in a whisper. An echoing bout of laughter came up from the first floor, as if in response to her question. Everything below was continuing on as normal, and Ysmay did not raise any alarm. Seregil remained silent, but straightened up, looking foreboding. Maybe Alec was right about him not feeling well, too. He should have been able to sense that somebody was in the room. He was going to get a mouthful from Alec when this was all over, and not in the good way that was promised to him….

“Seregil…” Ysmay began, and Seregil’s heart thumped in his chest. He blinked away the sweat dripping into his eyes. Did Ysmay know? How did she find out? Or was his lie really more obvious than Seregil thought it was? Could she be trusted with this secret? 

But Ysmay swallowed, visibly steeling herself, and began again. “Seregil told me that you don’t like to be seen. He says you’re terribly ugly.” She simpered slightly, and Seregil could see new wrinkles of age play on Ysmay’s face in the dim light. “From this distance, I can say with confidence that I’ve seen worse.”

She placed the lantern down as gently as ever on a side table to her right and stood, taking care that not even her dress ruffled loudly enough to carry a sound. Without a doubt, Ysmay had her finger on the pulse of all the latest fashion. Tight, chiffon dresses were all the rage this year, and a long split ran up the seam, revealing one of her shapely legs. 

Seregil stiffened again, glancing in Alec’s direction. Ysmay either didn’t realize or didn’t care that there was a second intruder just outside her window. She cautiously stepped forward, the darkness of the room enveloping her until she was only an arm's length away from her would-be burglar.

“I only wanted to meet the infamous Rhiminee Cat,” Ysmay admitted. Seregil assumed his eyes were more adjusted to the dark than her’s, and still he said nothing, knowing that his voice could give him away in an instant. Even if he attempted to disguise it in some way, Ysmay wasn’t stupid. She would be able to put two and two together from the years of being his acquaintance. “I’m the one who hired you for tonight. There was no beleaguered girl, there is no blackmail. At least, not any that I have an active part in. It was all an excuse to get this close to you.”

Ysmay waited for the Rhiminee Cat to say something. She soon surmised that he wouldn’t.

“You’ve done so much for me,” she continued, unperturbed. “And for Lady Kylith before me. Keeping my girls out of trouble, averting… awkward situations. Seregil always told me the money was enough, but he’s a dolt when it comes to these things.” Ysmay winced politely and added, “Don’t tell him I said that. I value my friendship with the man, and would hate to mar that friendship with such a scurrilous admittance.” Seregil nearly rolled his eyes in relief, but didn’t dare move a muscle. 

“I needed to thank you. I needed to thank you personally.” She reached out her hand to stroke Seregil’s cheek, grazing the side of the velvet black mask that hung just beneath his cheekbones. 

Before the physical contact could happen, Seregil grabbed her in a crushing grip by the wrist. Ysmay yelped in shock, and Seregil spun her on her heels, slapping his free hand over her mouth. Ysmay understood immediately, and her eyes widened with pain and fear. She did not attempt to struggle. 

Seregil let go of her wrist and slipped the poniard from his boot. He swept it out in front of him so that the gleaming steel caught the light of the lantern for a brief moment. Ysmay breathed heavily through her nostrils as she saw it descend closer to her breast, but she did not scream. She was indeed a smart woman. 

Playing the part of the Rhiminee Cat to the hilt, Seregil placed the tip of his knife to Ysmay’s delicate throat. He traced a small line from her gullet to her clavicle, careful not to break the skin. Then, with reflexes that Ysmay’s senses couldn’t even register, he sliced a red line through her exposed, soft thigh. Ysmay wailed into Seregil’s palm and nearly collapsed. But Seregil kept her on her feet with one strong arm. Blood dripped on the floor, staining the Zengatti-style carpets Seregil himself had gifted Ysmay as a token of his appreciation. Tears trickled down Ysmay’s full cheeks, wetting Seregil’s hand that was still clenched over her mouth. 

Seregil guided Ysmay’s hand with his to the fresh slit, forcing her to dip her own fingers into the cut. Using Ysmay’s blood as ink, he traced a message with her index finger as the stylus on top of the table they huddled against. Ysmay’s eyes strained against the faint light, watching intently as each letter slowly formed beneath the trembling dance of their fingers.

FORGET, he wrote. 

In this light, the bloody letters looked almost black. Shiny and flickering in the candlelight.

There was a long silence, and Ysmay eventually realized that she was meant to respond. She squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded into her captor’s palm.

After a moment, Seregil lessened the pressure he was applying to her lips, gradually lifting his hand away. Ysmay wisely remained as quiet as the grave. Seregil knelt, tore a length of cloth from Ysmay’s dress, and she whimpered with fright. Seregil acknowledged in the back of his mind that he was probably causing some unpleasant flashbacks for her, but still he persisted. He callously tied the shredded cloth around the wound he had caused before slowly backing away and disappearing through the window.

“What was that all about?” Alec wheezed when they were far enough from the Street of Lights to stop running.

Seregil caught his breath and clunked the back of his head against the wall of a darkened house. “She wanted to thank the Rhiminee Cat in person.”

“I heard as much,” Alec said. “But why did you hurt her like that? A cut that deep is going to leave a scar, even if she does get a Drysian to tend to it right away.”

Seregil shook his head from side to side with morose. “It had to be done, Alec. The Rhiminee Cat has a reputation of his own. He can’t be getting too friendly with any one customer. There had to be consequences for that trick Ysmay pulled.”

Alec bent over, hands on his knees, and glared at the ground. Seregil was right, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying that out loud. Instead, he glanced back up and spat, “I told you it was a trap!”

“You were right, tali,” Seregil huffed in a sing-song voice. “You were right. I bet the next time we have dinner, she’s going to have quite the exciting tale to tell us.”

Alec stretched with a grunt, beaming in Seregil’s direction. “Did she say you smelled like salted cod?”

Seregil kicked his leg out and knocked Alec onto his ass. Despite the sudden drop, Alec let out a particularly loud guffaw. Seregil joined him in the laugh, and took off down the abandoned road, recommencing the chase they had started back in their private room. Alec was quick to his feet, and was soon closing in on his lover. They played this game all the way back to the Stag and Otter Inn, and had barely made it up the secret staircase before their clothes were off.


	3. Chapter 2: Illior's Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 has weird formatting tech. I had some cool text configuration, especially with Alec reading the prophecies, but they can't be easily translated into HTML, and I'm not going to spend the time fixing each one. 
> 
> Anyway! Please enjoy, and also leave a comment! I also welcome constructive criticism, as well as discussion or speculation about the goings-on of Rhiminee! Thanks again, and take what the Lightbearer brings!

**Chapter 2**

**Illior’s Warning**

 

Viophe, priestess of Illior, was found face down where she collapsed in the gardens. Nobody saw how she fell, as it was her morning constitutional to stretch her old bones in peace and quiet among the early blooming flowers. The other inhabitants of the Rhiminee Merchant Quarter temple didn’t even realize she was missing until the belfry struck noon, and her seat was vacant at the lunch table.

A search party quickly found her and carried her to a sickbed, where her friends and colleagues prayed over her for a speedy recovery. They feared that her old age had finally caught up to her, despite how sprite she had remained in her senior years. None of the other priests or priestesses paid any attention to her incessant murmuring, putting it down to burgeoning dementia.

Only a young acolyte had the presence of mind to write down the mantra she whispered continually under her breath.

\-----

Britt tended the stables on the property of a temple dedicated to Illior in the Noble Quarter of Rhiminee. He was an orphan who had found refuge shoveling hay and horse shit for three meals a day. Nobles and wealthy travellers would make the journey to this temple to pay their respects to their patron god, and drop their horses off in Britt’s tender care. Everyone who knew him personally saw that he treated every horse with respect and kindness.

An impatient noble of a mediocre rank (which did not reflect his haughty attitude) bellowed out for the boy to take his horse’s reins so that he could get on with his morning prayers. After minutes of waiting, he found the boy slack against the stable walls, wide-eyed and babbling. The noble kicked the boy with his muddy boot, but Britt made no reaction. The noble sought out the stable owner to complain, who mercifully showed Britt more compassion than his discoverer, and raced him to a Drysian.

It was that curious Drysian who jotted down Britt’s words and realized their importance.

\-----

Ibruen, a self-acclaimed priestess in the service of Illior, had never been confirmed by any temple. Word had spread quickly about her unsightly fervor , that anywhere Ibruen found herself turned into a powder keg waiting to explode. Every temple she solicited turned her away for - at worst - being a heretic, or - at least - for unsettling the temple goers with her shrill sermons dictating that the poor eat the rich. Metaphorically, anyway.

She took to preaching in the streets for the poor in the Ring that circled Rhiminee. The city was built first and foremost as a fortress against invading enemies. After the first Skalan capital of Essos was invaded by Plenimarin soldiers, the Queens of Skala vowed that they would never fall to an outside force again. The Ring was an intentional machination of warfare. The walls were high and formidable, its gates wide and imposing. It reserved space so that cattle and livestock could be drawn within the walls to graze. Farmers could grow crops in its vacant fields, allowing the city-state to self- sustain for years on end. Rhiminee was a mighty mountain of stability rising above a seething ocean of chaos.

But when war is few and far between, and people are allowed to relax and repopulate, even an amazingly large city of Rhiminee would overcrowd and begin to devour itself. Or gnaw a bit at the very least. The rich upper class turned a blind eye to the peasants’ hardships, shipping them out of their Noble Quarters. But those who could find nowhere else to live could always build a home in the slums of Rhiminee’s Ring.

Nobody took Ibruen seriously at first, especially when all the Ring dwellers realized she was just as penniless as the rest of them. But her persistence and daily benedictions eventually brought people around to her presence. Ibruen had recently gathered a substantial audience in only a few weeks of time. Her congregation flared through the Ring, whose poverty stricken masses felt within her words a voice that truly resonated with them. A person who understood how helpless and lost they felt. Ibruen was mid-sermon when her body went limp. She tumbled almost gracefully from the wooden box on which she stood. Some looked on in awe, thinking she was struck by the divine influence of Illior. And when Ibruen started speaking in riddles, they knew it for a fact.

\-----

Some claimed that Cessel the cook had a bit of magic in him. He made the rations allotted by her Majesty’s graces to the small shrine dedicated to Illior just outside the Street of Lights into a tasty feast. Even during times of war and famine, Cessel could make salted bread into manna from heaven.

A homeless child chanced being run out by the Blue Coats that patrolled the more affluent parts of the city to stop by Cessel’s kitchen. She knew that as long as you spaced out your visits to his window, the cook would always part with a free morsel or two. The little girl was looking forward to maybe getting some cheese, or if she was really lucky, even a slice of bacon.

What she found instead was Cessel, nearly fallen onto his kitchen fire, a pot of soup boiling over on top of him. Even though he was being splashed by the scalding broth, and his clothes seemed to be catching fire, he did not move. He did not blink. He only whispered. Tears streaming from her eyes, the little homeless girl ran for her mother for help. As she dragged the distraught woman to Cessel’s aid, she repeated to her the dreadful words the cook had been saying aloud.

\-----

Aurene had been named by her parents after Illior’s other name, Aura Illustri. She had grown up in a faithful family, and knew that one day she would be a priestess of Illior. At only 15, she had gained the honor of entering the Scholar’s school on merit alone.

The future was bright for Aurene. She excelled at everything she put her mind to, and was never deterred by failure or setbacks. Some even claimed she was blessed by Illior himself to be a beacon of hope for future generations.

Aurene slept in a large dorm room attached to the even larger school temple. She shared this room with seventeen other girls and women. This morning, Aurene did not get up for her morning classes. Those playful roommates teased Aurene. Then chided her as she apparently refused to leave her bed. Thinking she was sick, the other girls conspired to make some excuse for her at class and let her sleep in a little longer.

When they came back for their lunch hour, Aurene somehow had the presence of mind to crawl out of bed. In a violently trembling hand, she had written in ink on her desk the prophecy that had come to her in the night. Her roommates screamed at her bloody nose and glazed eyes, getting the attention of the senior priest, who at once summoned both a Drysian and a messenger. The Drysian saw to Aurene’s sudden coma, while the messenger lept onto a horse, heading directly to the Skalan Viceregent, Prince Korathan.

\-----

Neslin had only come to the Temple of the Four in the Temple Precinct to pay his respects to Astellas, the Sailor. His old bones protested furiously while walking up all those stairs. Which meant being on a boat again was going to be rougher than when he was a lad. But, alas, this would be his final fishing trip. The seas were calm now, and the captain would forgive him for his slack should he run afoul of any curse due to old age.

Fortunately, Neslin had been wiser than his plucky, young counterparts. He had made all sorts of connections with fishermen, dock workers, and investors. He had spread out his own net, to catch that largest yet most elusive of prey: capital.

Neslin had a fine web strung, and was ready to use his old age as an asset, his experience out in the deep blue coupled with his own shipyard… Neslin was poised to start a business that would put his granddaughter’s heart at ease. His desire to pray to the Old Sailor was not just for sunny skies and a good haul.

A notion struck Neslin. He was feeling particularly crafty this morning. He had a few more coppers in his pocket to spare. Paying his respects to each of the Four made sailors pious, and a good investment for someone wanting to hedge their bets. On top of all the other plans he had made, it wouldn’t be long until he was carried away to Bilary’s Gate. Neslin wanted to be in as many good graces as he could. He left Astellas’ temple, and continued around the circle to the Temple of the Mother, Dalna. He asked for good health and an ease to his burning joints.

Continuing around the courtyard, keeping an eye on sun to gauge the time, Neslin said a prayer for Sakor at his flaming hearth. To ask for strength in the face of cowardice, and for love and many victories for his Queen and Country.

The instant he set foot into Illior’s temple, the old man collapsed.

Neslin never did make it to his fishing boat. He did not have an easy passage through the Osiat Sea. Neslin would never own a mildly successful boatyard, but his granddaughter would assuredly live in wealth and happiness. For instead, that morning, Neslin was immortalized as one of Illior’s sacred prophets.

\-----

Ziemert woke up early that morning in his tavern room, heart beating fast with excitement. Today he was going to the Oreska House, the sanctuary where all the wizards of Skala made their home. They studied magics, spells, and all manifestations of otherworldly phenomena there. If you had any question about magic, you could be certain there was someone at the Oreska House who could answer that question for you.

Ziemert had never actually seen a wizard perform magic. At the temple of Illior in which Ziemert sometimes studied, he saw all types of people claiming to be wizards and witches come through, looking for shelter for the night. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish them from the raving lunatics who also begged for bread, warm mead, and a cot to sleep on. But he’d never seen any of them do anything he would consider magical.

That is until he had gotten a letter from none other than Thero, apprentice of Nysander, the world’s most well known wizard before his passing. Thero held the most respect out of everyone in the Third Oreska, history’s most recent generation of spellcasters. He had been tortured by Plenimarin Marines, fought and exorcised demons, and was instrumental in defeating Rezaht, an unimaginably dangerous Necromancer, having been struck blind by her in the process. Still, Thero had managed to win the heart of the Skalan Princess Klia, and had a wizardborn daughter with her, something that had never happened before in the history of Skala. As everyone knows - or rather knew - all wizards are made infertile by the Four to compensate for their inherited magical talent and abnormally long lives.

Such an amazing, historic man as Thero had gone out of his way to seek Ziemert out, and was going to speak with him personally.

Ziemert had been in possession of a particular scroll for nearly all his life. It was a family heirloom that generations of his ancestors had stubbornly clung to. It was a time-weathered map that chronicled the movements of the Retha’noi through the mountains. Those elusive, nomadic hill-folk would rather be left alone in the small pockets of colonies they still resided in than treat with other peoples. They used to have vast, sophisticated tribes all over the continent before the Skalans drove them mercilessly into the mountains. As a result, the Retha’noi very rarely invite or abide strangers into their dwindling lands.

But that Retha’noi blood beat in Ziemert’s heart. Mixed though it may be, Ziemert was only one generation away from being pure-blooded Retha’noi. He still believed in his own people’s Moon Goddess, and worshiped her faithfully. But Illior was a patron of travelers, so he found refuge and patience wherever there was a Temple to shelter him. He also had as many books and scrolls as he could study, and it excited him to dig up what little was left behind by his people’s culture.

This prominent and powerful wizard, Thero, had tracked Ziemert down specifically because of Ziemert’s learned expertise in this field. And because of the scroll that had been passed down in his family for generations. It was a map that showed rough approximations of every major, minor, and exiled tribal lands of the Retha’noi when they were at their prime. With this exact map, they could search more areas for artifacts, and learn more about their lost history. Ziemert was blissfully happy that somebody so high above him in stature and rank was writing to him like a student who wanted to absorb all the knowledge he had to offer. So often people just spat at him on the streets because it was obvious by his skin color that he was some sort of outsider. Not to be trusted….

Someone, Ziemert thought to himself, up there, way up there, wants peace and equality, and wants to understand my people.

The Oreska House was always sunny and warm. It was enchanted to be that way, to always have summer weather. If your experiments required any of the other seasons, you were welcome to bespell your bedchamber. But outdoors? That was summer.

Ziemert swore he had never smelled air so fresh and fragrant. It was like he was walking into a dreamland. Centaurs cantered in the distant field, causing Ziemert to blink a few times. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have turned for home then and there thinking he’d gone mad.

With these dazzling sights already spinning in his head, Ziemert was whisked away by a man named Wethis, who introduced himself as Master Thero’s laboratory aid. The white stone echoed as their boot heels trundled down the halls and up staircases, until Wethis suddenly stopped. “Please wait here in the lounge,” he said with a gentle smile, and tugged open the door to reveal a quiet, cushioned area. There was already a fire crackling in the fireplace, and the smell of tea and eggs came wafting from the side table.

“Make yourself at home,” Wethis instructed, bowing politely. “I will go tell Master Thero you are here. He shall be with you momentarily.”

“Many thanks,” Ziemert replied, already falling into a comfortable chair, taking luscious sips from the hot, flavorful tea. Before Wethis disappeared, Ziemert reached out his hand to stop the servant. “Oh, excuse me, just one more thing. Is it true? That Master Thero is blind?”

Wethis’ expression softened a little, appearing to be comfortable with the question. “He is,” the assistant replied. “But I guarantee you’ll be fooled. He uses magic to navigate around himself. If it weren’t for the way his pupils looked, you’d wouldn’t even be able to tell he has no sight.”

Wethis bowed again, and exited the room. Ziemert did not have to wait long as Thero knocked his knuckles against the door, signaling to the relaxing guest that he had arrived.

“Ziemert,” he began, trying to sound friendly as the other man stumbled to his feet out of respect. Thero was a tall man with curly black hair, and a trimmed beard. And due to his longevity, he still looked amazingly young for his age. Even his dull irises still seemed to spark as if they had life in them after all. He raised his hand, almost as if to pat the nerve-ridden boy on the shoulder, only to turn it into an inviting handshake. “Thank you so much for traveling all the way out here. I understand you’re from the north?”

“Yes,” Ziemert nodded, some of the anxiety bleeding away from his colored cheeks. He sat down again, nearly spilling his tea, but appeared to be composing himself. Thero raised an eyebrow, sensing perhaps he was starting to garner a reputation of his own. Nysander had been widely recognized and respected; and now that Thero took up his deceased master’s mantle, he noticed that he was treated with more respect than he’d ever imagined being humanly possible. Was this what public recognition is like, or was this a reaction out of awestruck fear?

“Was it a long journey?” Thero asked, trying to keep the conversation light. Ziemert brightened at the familiarity of the question, and described his relatively comfortable carriage ride down from the mountains. Thero nodded, and in a lull during the discussion, he pointed the subject towards Ziemert’s heritage.

“And you’ve never seen one up close?” Thero asked, looking almost startled. This made Ziemert blush with some sort of guilty feeling, like it was irresponsible of him to have never seen or touched an Uluh, his people’s sacred instrument.

“I was still young when my family joined with Skala,” Ziemert admitted, looking away. “I remember the festivals mostly, since they were always outside, around a huge bonfire, snow banks piled up to funnel the wind. Most of the winter we just huddled together in our huts, doing chores. Then I was here. And ever since, Skala has been my home.” Ziemert looked back at Thero expectantly. Thero wasn’t sure what the young man wanted from him exactly. So he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Tell me more.”

The relief that melted into Ziemert’s tensed muscles moved Thero much more deeply than he could comprehend. The younger man was on the verge of weeping uncontrollably. To cut some of the tension, Thero filled time with his voice. “And perhaps, after we’ve eaten a little, I can show you the Uluh I have in my possession. I think you of all people deserve to feel up close the magic in that tool.”

Ziemert did not make any response, only smiling faintly with the salt of his tears drying on his cheeks. Thero took this moment of composure as a sign of consent, and stood to retrieve the Uluh from his workspace. But as he turned to go, something nettled at the back of his neck, and Thero knew that something wasn’t right. What he first took as shock and relief was now manifesting itself into an entirely new emotion. Ziemert’s eyes seemed to dim, and his face rested into a neutral mask. The color drained away from his skin, and Thero instinctively prepared for the boy to have an epileptic seizure.

But instead, Ziemert’s cloudy eyes sought Thero’s. When they connected, Ziemert spoke.

“The Eater of Death,” he rasped, “stretches his finger to the sea.”

And then he went limp.

Thero joined him on the floor, not to inspect the boy’s condition, but because his own legs had buckled out from underneath him. Shards of ice sliced through his blood, and he woozily snapped his fingers. Trying to take deep breaths, and failing, Thero conjured up a blue message sphere. It hovered just in front of him, but the image of it through his mind’s eye was starting to blur with vertigo.

“Korathan,” he wheezed, breathless. “We need to meet. Watcher… Watcher…” The word wouldn’t come. Now, in this moment of terror, words seemed like paltry, finite things. Thero sucked in a gulp of air before sending the magic speeding away, having decided upon the only word that could express his dread:

“Emergency.”

\-----

Alec was in a deep forest. The towering pines were so dark they appeared black in the cold starlight. He felt the brush of their branches against his face and arms as he stumbled around in the dry snow. The air was freezing, and it felt like he had razor sharp blades in his lungs every time he took a breath.

Where was Alec’s bow? Where was his sword? He searched his person for anything that could be of any use, but all he had were the clothes on his back, and even those were no shield against the blasting winter gales. Regardless, true panic had not set in yet. Alec felt it bubbling up from his stomach, but he staved the feeling off by studying the sky for familiar constellations. If he could only find out which direction to walk, he was certain of his survival. As Alec got his bearings, he recognized stars that were out of season for being above Skala. He assumed he was somewhere north, probably in Mycena.

Just then, the star he was using as his guide winked out of existence. It simply… wasn’t there anymore. That was impossible. Or at least - if his wizard friend Thero was correct about the celestial bodies being distant islands, like the moon - extremely unlikely. Stars did disappear from time to time, but Alec had never seen such a definite hole in the sky.

And it was getting larger. One by one, all the other stars vanished, like candles being snuffed. Even the small wisps of clouds evaporated as the darkness swallowed the evening sky.

Panic welled up with renewed strength within him, and Alec felt his heart pounding in his throat. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he had to get away. To run. To be anywhere but here. So overwhelmed with fear, Alec didn’t even register the darkness billowing like smoke through the tree trunks. By the time he noticed its tendrils wrapping around him, it was already too late.

Like fingers, the engulfing abyss reached out towards Alec’s eyes, and ripped them from their sockets.

Seregil woke with a start and nearly threw himself off the bed and onto the ground. He touched his clammy forehead with his palm, and let out the breath he had been holding in. It took a few moments, but he felt his pulse finally return to normal. The daze from the nightmare slowly lifted, and Seregil’s hand sought Alec’s. He found it close by, his lover sleeping restfully next to him. Tenderly, he grasped Alec’s hand and lifted it to a kiss before gently tucking it back under the bedcovers.

Another nightmare. Seregil hated nightmares. Especially the ones that involved Alec. He knew he would never be able to get back to sleep again, so he set his mind to the riddle of his recent dreams. Seregil padded, barefoot, out the chamber door and settled himself on the posh couch next to their work table, folding his arms across his chest in thought.

In his dream, Seregil hadn’t been himself. He had been Alec. And Alec had been lost in the woods somewhere in Mycena before…. Seregil flinched, inwardly. “Before my nightmare tore out those beautiful eyes,” he said out loud, forcing himself to say the words.

“Someone tore out my eyes?” Alec asked, gathering his blonde hair into a ponytail. He walked quietly to stand at Seregil’s side, but did not join him on the couch. He loomed over Seregil, his face still carrying the semblance of sleep it had on just a minute ago. Alec knew through their talimenios bond that Seregil would never tell him what the nightmare was about unless he wanted to. He wouldn’t try to pry the thoughts from that steel trap, but he could coax it open gently.

Receiving no reply, Alec purposefully let out a large yawn, stretching his arms above his head so that he could almost touch the rafters. Time for a little coaxing, he guessed.

“Or maybe they weren’t my eyes,” Alec mused under his breath. “Perhaps somebody else has eyes you think are more beautiful than mine.” He paused, acting like he was thinking this thought over in his head. Then he clicked his tongue with annoyance, and hoisted his hands to his hips. “Have you been out to the Street of Lights with someone behind my back? Who are they? Another boy? Or was it a girl this time?”

Seregil saw right through Alec’s feigned anger, but he simpered at the effort. “Tali, the only time I’ve been through the Street of Lights this week was with you, and the night ended with me carving up one of my best friends. I think I’m entitled to a nightmare or two, don’t you think?”

“No,” Alec stated simply. “Unhappy dreams, sure. But nightmares… Seregil, your nightmares are so prophetic, you could sit in an Oracle’s own chair, and few would seek to remove you from it. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, alright.” Alec exaggerated a shrug, and focused his line of sight towards the rising sun out the window. He let the silence that fell in his wake settle between them, but before the moment could turn bitter, he continued. “You know I’d never pressure you to tell me secrets, Seregil. I did that when we first met - to no avail - until I finally learned over time what the truths were. And when you became my talimenios, I thought there were no more secrets for you to even keep from me anymore. Except for recent ones, anyway.”

Alec crossed the room so softly that Seregil hadn’t realized it until Alec draped his arms over his shoulders from behind him. They didn’t preen, or nuzzle against each other. They waited like that, sharing the view of the dawn.

“Still, I’d never ask,” Alec whispered. “But I want you to know something. If these nightmares are even remotely like any of the last ones, and it has something to do with me? I would rather know and be prepared than have to rely entirely on you when things turn to shit.” He hooked his finger on Seregil’s chin, turning his lover’s head to meet his gaze. “And that always goes just so…”

Alec trailed off, searching for the word. He sharply pinched Seregil’s cheek, like an elder would a toddler, and shook until Seregil’s jowls waggled noisily. “Perfectly! Doesn’t it?”

It was as if Alec molded the smile to Seregil’s face himself. Seregil beamed brightly at the not so subtle jab and, with a heave, flipped Alec over the couch and into his lap.

“Tentacles made of darkness surround me, groping, until finally they pluck my eyes out like grapes off a vine.” Seregil mimed the motion, wiggling his fingers as they slowly descended onto Alec’s blushing cheeks. Alec shoved Seregil to the floor with a playful laugh; but Seregil acknowledged that the effortless, tight hold Alec now had him in was as serious - and as incapacitating - as any back alley brawler could manage. Wordlessly Seregil conceded, and the love of his life, whom he vowed to cherish forever, released him.

“But wait,” Alec pondered after the wrestling was done, and Seregil had finished spitting out carpet fur from his mouth. “That doesn’t make any sense. You said they were my eyes.”

“Yes,” Seregil confirmed, regaining his composure much more easily than Alec. “Oh… it’s because in this dream, I am you. So when they take my eyes, they’re really taking yours.”

Alec staggered to his feet, gracefulness exhausted for the morning. “You know what, actually? I take it all back. I didn’t want to know what your nightmare was about after all.”

“You know what they say about hindsight, my love,” Seregil chided, feeling much better having gotten the dread from his nightmare shirked away.

“That it belongs to the eyes of an archer,” Alec finished for him. “Meaning I can’t take back the shot after I let the arrow fly. I’ve already learned that lesson, Seregil, in every sense.”

“Oh damn,” Seregil growled. Alec joined him, having gone back into the bedroom, and saw what elicited the curse. A blue message sphere hovered patiently above their pillows.

“How long has that been there?” Alec asked, suddenly guilty at the thought of missing something important.

“I don’t know,” Seregil grumbled in return, popping the sphere with his finger like a bubble. Alec resisted the urge to listen, knowing that the magic would speak only for its intended target.

With that prick of his finger, Thero’s voice boomed in Seregil’s ears: “Wake up, already!”

“Uh oh,” Seregil grimaced. Alec chuckled at the comical expression. “We’re in trouble, Alec. Thero thinks we’ve slept in.”

“That’s all?!” Alec practically shouted through his burst of laughter. “You looked like someone hit you over the head when it went off!”

“Wake up,” Seregil quoted, intoning so that his timbre matched their friend’s. “That’s all he said. Or yelled, really.”

“I guess we’d better go meet him,” Alec groaned, wishing he could crawl back under their sheets. Instead, he started picking his outfit for the day from the closet.

“Who knows,” Seregil said, already chipper at the potential of having an interesting job to do. “At least we’ll get breakfast out of it.”

Wethis was waiting for them in the kitchen of the Stage and Otter. As they entered, he broke away from his conversation with Ema at the kitchen fire, and Seregil noted that it ended with happy, grinning expressions on both sides. Their gazes lingered longingly for a moment or two before they broke away from each other in earnest. Seregil didn’t have time to imagine their conversation before Wethis bowed to them.

“Master Thero said to wait for you here,” Wethis explained, “and tell you when you wake to meet with him and Prince Korathan at court. At your next convenience, of course.”

“Of course,” Seregil agreed sarcastically with a snide look towards Alec.

He was met with Alec’s equally blatant dour look. “I doubt the Viceregent of Skala, Seregil, wants to chat with us over tea and crumpets.”

Seregil rolled his eyes. “You’re just full of barbs this morning, Alec. Anyway, regardless of the offer for a generous leeway of time, I don’t imagine I want to keep them waiting too long. Seems like going back to Wheel Street and changing into something more befitting of a Baron is not going to be an option. Let’s just ride out now and face the ‘embarrassment’ of looking paltry to the nobles. In exchange for not dragging our feet, I’m sure our hosts will forgive our attire.”

\-----

The citadel at Rhiminee was probably one of the most frightening places Alec had ever been to. It was built, first and foremost, to withstand any siege or invasion. Standing almost like a huge, stone box, the castle took up nearly a quarter of the city by itself. And every inch of it was crawling with guards. Alec never asked if Seregil (or the Rhiminee Cat) had ever tried to burgle the royal palace, simply because he knew it couldn’t be done. At least not without years of advanced planning and orchestration.

Although he and Seregil had always been friends of the Royal Family and valued protectors of Skala in their own hidden way, Alec still had memories of this place that made his gut tighten as they rode their horses through its towering gates into the courtyard.

The previous sovereign of Skala, Queen Phoria, had been a valiant queen and warrior. But she had no love for Seregil, her distant, distant cousin. Or Alec, for that matter. Phoria had even threatened to execute the two of them on different occasions, and had even formally disbanded the secret organization of spies they belonged to, the Watchers.

Still, Alec thought back to the images Princess Klia, Phoria’s younger half-sister, had relayed to him about the day Phoria had died. Beheaded in battle by Plenimarin Marines on the brink of total victory against the warring nation. It was a gruesome death to picture, but Alec thought Phoria wouldn’t have been too disappointed with it. It was said that Phoria’s officers recovered her body amongst a pile of dead enemies that she had cut down in her last moments.

But that was years ago, coming closer to a decade now. And Skala was now being ruled by Phoria’s nephew and heir, Queen Elani. Elani was just as much a warrior as Phoria, but was immeasurably more friendly to Alec and Seregil than her predecessor would have ever agreed to be. She had already undone a lot of the harm the warmongering Phoria had inflicted in her obsession with tactical victory, including reinstating the Watchers to their former status of Skala’s defenders.

Led by Thero of the Third Oreska, the Watchers continued their diligent work for Queen and Country, averting disasters the general public were never privy to.

Alec glanced around the courtyard approvingly, feeling the ball of anxiety in his stomach loosen. Elani had not let peacetime dull her. After seeing the renovated estates on the island of Korous, Elani was motivated to infuse more culture into her crown city. In the recent months, she had been enlisting wizards of the Oreska House to gather histories and architectural parchments on Skala, and she commissioned hundreds of artists and stonemasons to decorate and buttress the castle so that it was more appealing to the eye.

“It is not enough that Rhiminee be the capital of Skala,” Queen Elani had announced during last year’s Mourning Night holiday ritual. “Rhiminee must be the shining example of what happens when a nation rises out of the quagmire of war. Thanks to the sacrifices of our people and the blessings of Sakor, we now have peace and prosperity. I shall not let this fruit ripen and rot on the branch - I will partake of it! And continue to progress our country, to write a new chapter in Skalan history!”

Alec could still hear the deafening roar of approval that nearly shook the Ring apart after Elani had made that proclamation. He was overjoyed to see her actually putting her words into practice.

“Elani has done some amazing things,” Seregil said out of the side of mouth, reading Alec’s mind. He jutted his chin in the direction of one of the castle’s walls. “That fresco there has definite Zengatti influence. Auranen goldwork. Even there, that stonework is similar to the kind we saw on Korous.”

“Plenimarin stonework,” Alec gawked, raising his eyebrows. “Is Elani certain about some of these renovations? I’m sure there are nobles in Rhiminee who still haven’t gotten over all the years of death and strife.”

“Ever since Phoria’s victory over the Plenimarin Emperor, the country has kept to itself,” Seregil explained. “They pay their yearly tribute as stipulated by the treaty, and sometimes they trade with Mycenians and the Aurenfaie. But other than that, they’ve been laying low, licking their wounds. Besides, Sacred Korous isn’t just sacred for the Plenimarins. It was the birthplace of everyone who eventually migrated to the three nations. We all share a history there, whether we like it or not.”

“I know that,” Alec grumbled. “But there are a lot of people in Skala who don’t feel that way.”

“There are also a lot of people in Skala who aren’t the Queen,” Seregil smirked, and Alec returned it with his own in kind.

With their horses taken care of by the stable hands in the castle’s yard, a servant beckoned them to follow her into the castle proper. They walked down familiar halls, and Seregil noted that the servant led them directly to Prince Korathan’s personal chambers instead of the formal receiving room. Now I’m sure it has to be Watcher business, Seregil thought to himself. He caught Alec’s eye with a motion, and then discreetly signed the words with his fingers. Alec saw, nodded, and repeated the sign: Watcher business.

The dread sank instantly in Alec’s stomach like an anvil once again. As soon as the doors swung open, he saw that not only were Thero and Prince Korathan there waiting for them, but also Princess Klia and Queen Elani herself.

The Queen was not dressed for court today. She had on leather britches and a loose, sky-blue shirt. Almost as if she had just gotten back from her sparring lessons, which Alec suspected was most likely the case. Elani gave them both a warm, disarming smile as they entered, probably sensing the tension in Alec’s shoulders. He wished he could say the same for Korathan, but the Prince was looking older and grayer than ever. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his formal hat of office lay discarded on his desk. Alec gleaned that he didn’t particularly like wearing it. Seregil had told him several times that Korathan had always preferred a soldier’s armor to his clerical robes of state.

Thero and Princess Klia sat next to each other on the same couch, and although they did not glower like Korathan, they also had rather serious expressions on their faces. Seregil began feeling some of that potent anxiety, and it wasn’t just through empathy with Alec. “I take it something rather exciting has happened,” Seregil guessed after he and Alec bowed and paid proper respect to their royal hosts.

“That would be putting it lightly, Seregil,” Thero replied, pushing himself to his feet. His blue wizard garb flowed around him, except for the sleeves, which Thero was in the habit of tying up around his biceps. That way they didn’t impede any motions that may be necessary for him to take while weaving spells or just working over a fire.

“How is Tamir?” Alec asked softly to Klia, standing politely to her left. Tamir was the honored name of one of the greatest Queens in Skalan history. But it was also the name Klia and Thero had given to their wizardborn daughter. Alec surmised that this new Tamir would be just as historical as the first, seeing as it had been centuries since wizards were actually able to conceive children. And a royal, wizardborn child on top of all that!

“She’s growing every day,” Klia responded with obvious love and delight. “Her name-day is still far into the future, but rest assured that you and Seregil will have invitations again this year.”

“Tamir is in the nursery, thankfully not getting dragged into this mess,” Thero huffed, his frustration becoming more apparent. He turned and bowed again to Elani. “Forgiveness, your Majesty, for my tactless words. I don’t think I’ve explained well enough how dire these new developments are.”

Elani raised her hand and waved away the apology. “Master Thero, it was my impression that the Watchers get straight to business, yes? I request nothing more than you speaking as frankly as if I were a natural confederate in your cause.”

“No need to stand on ceremony,” Korathan agreed. He caught Alec’s wide-eyed look. “We can save ourselves hours of talking if we cut out the numerous titles we all hold between us, Baron Alec. And I think this matter requires our haste.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Seregil interjected. He knew well enough that Alec and Korathan were not bosom brothers with each other; while Seregil, on the other hand, had been to bed with Korathan back when the Prince was more - well - youthful. It was a sore spot for Alec, who seemed incapable of even picturing that relationship in his imagination. “Would somebody here be so kind as to explain to Alec and me what exactly is going on? I’m certainly not aware of any secret plots or conspiracies, and I’m starting to feel left out.”

“Of course,” Elani started, with much more gusto than a Queen of state should conduct. “We believe we have received a message from Illior.”

“Several messages, to be exact,” Thero said, arranging various scrolls on the wide, polished desk in the middle of the room. “For a long while, we thought that we had gotten six messages, but just last night, the seventh - and we think final - prophecy has been recorded and brought to this room.

“Consider my interests stoked,” Seregil grinned. He cast his eyes briefly over each scroll, taking stock of them all. “Though what makes you so certain all of these messages are connected? And that these are all the messages were going to receive?”

“I obviously can’t speak on behalf of gods,” Thero answered. “But seven is an auspicious number, and most importantly, all of these prophecies were delivered yesterday at the exact same time.”

Alec held his elbow in his hand and tapped a finger at his lips. “What exactly do you mean by that? Are you saying all seven of these messages came from seven different prophets? I didn’t think there were that many in Rhiminee alone.”

“There aren’t,” Klia grumbled, laying one of her riding boots across her knee. “The people who made these prophecies were not oracles or prophets at all. In fact, it looks like a lot of them are only loosely connected to Illior to begin with.”

“Random people, all over the city, Seregil, collapsed on themselves at the very same moment,” Korathan added, his voice grave. “Now, each one of them is Illior-touched. They can barely eat or shit on their own, and can only repeat their prophecy. Thero suggested having them write out their thoughts in an attempt to reestablish communication, but….”

Korathan trailed off, brushing his hand over his official hat. His face was even darker than before.

Thero took up the narrative from the Prince’s silence. “They can’t even write anymore. The only who can is a young scholar girl, but even she can only write her appointed prophecy and nothing else. The others… I’m not sure if they could even draw basic shapes if you wanted them to.”

Alec winced, his heart going out to those people. “It’s true that Illior is also the patron god of madness,” he whispered, “but they didn’t deserve to have their lives changed forever like that.”

“That’s why,” Elani cried out, bolting up from her chair. “That’s why we have to take this so seriously. These citizens are under my protection. The seven different prophecies that Illior risked the lives of seven different people for… just to deliver them to us. So long as I sit on the throne, those men and women along with their families will be cared for the rest of their lives through the royal coffers. Thanks be to them.” They all took a moment of silence, sending their prayers up to the Four.

“So what’s the problem?” Seregil asked, going back over the strips of paper with his fingertips. “Are the prophecies gibberish? Are they in code? What is our objective regarding these?”

Thero shook his head, and let a growl escape his throat. “Something isn’t right. They are obviously of great importance, and they are meant to be read together. But they don’t make any cohesive sense. There’s almost nothing connecting them all together.”

“Thero thinks Illior sent us a riddle,” Klia said with a coy inflection.

Seregil shrugged, beckoning for Alec to join him at his side. “I listen better than I read, tali,” he said. “Could you please recite these out loud for everyone here?”

Alec nodded and inquired with Thero about which of the seven prophecies he should start with. Thero handed him the closest of the papers within his reach.

“This one was first spoken by a boy named Britt: ‘Time is no one’s friend. In this fight, all die alone. Only the Four bring salvation.’”

Seregil frowned. “Utterly generic. It’s barely a prophecy at all.”

Alec continued.

“First spoken by Ibruen: ‘For two lives, sent through Illior, One life is not an equal. Selflessness can be ignoble too.’”

“You can see why we’ve become frustrated with these prophecies,” Thero sighed, seating himself back onto the couch next to his wife.

“You know those spicy, candied dates you like?” Klia began, acknowledging both Alec and Elani within the same gaze. “On Kouros, they have a festival in the colder months where they serve those out of steaming street carts. And in only a handful of them, a slip of paper has been inserted inside. They say that if you bite into a date with this paper, whatever fortune is written on it will come true by next year.”

“That’s incredibly clever!” Elani beamed. “When this is all over, I wish to attend that festival.”

Klia smiled with fond memories. “These prophecies here. They remind me of those fortunes in the dates. It’s a fun tradition, but you know - in the back of your mind - that it was only the street cart owner’s daughter who wrote them. So they come out vague and applicable to anybody. Nothing special after all. That’s how these prophecies feel too. Like they don’t actually mean anything.”

“It’s quite possible,” Korathan agreed. “We’ve not had much luck with prophecies in the past. Try to avoid one, and you barrel headlong into its trap. Walk mindlessly down your path, and miss hundreds of other chances. Gods, why even send prophecies to begin with?”

“Some would say they’re comforting,” Seregil winked. “Alright. Two down, five to go,” he said, trying to sound positive. “Alec, if you would.”

“First spoken by Neslin: ‘Snow falls lightly on the black mountains. Those once hidden must be revealed. Dragon’s bloody white children stir.’”

Alec’s jaw fell open, and he quickly looked to Seregil for support. Seregil had also interpreted this message in the same way. “White children, Seregil,” Alec started, struck dumb with the shock. “Black mountains, hidden people. This is a prophecy about the Hazadrialfaie in Mycena.”

“That’s the tribe your mother came from, isn’t it?” Elani asked, and Alec nodded hesitantly.

“The Hazadrialfaie are Aurenfaie who have isolated and secluded themselves away from the rest of the world,” Korathan told Elani, like a proper Viceregent. “They do not accept outsiders, and only have a tentative trade relationship with the Retha’noi. Any who go into their forests uninvited are killed.”

“And everybody is uninvited,” Seregil chimed in.

“Who are the white children in this scenario?” Elani asked. The room went dead silent. Elani glanced back and forth between her trusted advisors, beginning to feel angry that nobody was answering her.

“The rekharo,” Thero finally spoke up, as if that answered everything.

“I’m going to read the next prophecy,” Alec stated, unfurling the fourth scroll. His body language was tense and foreboding.

“I will explain it to you in more depth later, Lady Elani,” Thero said quietly, a warning flashing across his expression.

“First spoken from Viophe: ‘Four without one is five. Worship the four and scorn the one, Until the two become the eight’”

“Now that one is just nonsense,” Klia sighed, dejected. “Just numbers and more references to gods.”

“But an explicit reference to ‘the one,’” Seregil noted, scrunching up his face like he’d just bitten into something sour. “That is an ill omen, if I ever heard one.” Thero shivered, a fact that did not escape Seregil’s attention.

“First spoken from Cessel: ‘Lips part for friends and enemies both. But from the kissed, where hope is grown, Love can sprout just as quickly’”

Nobody offered any assumptions about that one. It seemed almost like common knowledge.

“First spoken from Aurene: ‘Five lands to be shepherded, Three lands become two become one. Five will watch and three will wait.’”

“A reference to the three lands,” Elani pointed out. “Include Auranen and Zengat into the mix, and that makes five. But what does it mean when it says ‘three lands become two become one?’ Is Illior trying to tell us about some sort of peace between the nations? Maybe one day coming together under one banner.”

“If that’s the case, then it’s the most uplifting one yet,” Korathan mused. “But I’ve never agreed with the advice to wait and watch. None of this sits right with me.”

“Well, that was six.” Seregil clapped his hands together. “What’s our last clue?”

Alec searched the table and its immediate surroundings, but came up empty handed. “It’s not here. Does someone else have it?”

“This one is not written down,” Thero stated, his voice low and ominous. “And it will not be. The seventh prophecy is not to be referenced outside those gathered here. It is a state secret. Unlike the others, it is only one line. But it was a message that Illior sent directly to me, for me to hear with my own ears. The last prophecy is from a man named Ziemert. He told me…”

The words caught in Thero’s throat. All in attendance waited on baited breath for him to finish.

“The Eater of Death stretches his finger into the sea.”

Seregil bit into his lip so hard, he tasted blood. “It’s never over,” he murmured, hollow defeat ringing in his voice. “It’s a waking nightmare every other year, and it’s not stopping.”

“It will never stop.”

Seregil jerked his head up, snapping from his bitter thoughts. Thero faced him, his eyes gray cataracts. “It will never stop,” he said again. “The Eater of Death is eternal, and our struggle against him is never ending. When we are long away from this plane of existence, he will still be here. Attempting to birth himself into our world, one way or another.”

Icicles stabbed each of them through the chest like stakes, pinning their worst fears to their hearts.

“All we can do…” Thero continued, filling the silence with his soft words. “Is stop this next attempt. And the one after that. Until we die or he wins - one will not come without the other. It’s not any different from our normal daily lives, where we fight for survival against the inevitability of death. Would any of you say that struggle is in vain? Would anyone here in this room choose death over even one more breath of life? We don’t fight because we must. We fight because it’s what we do. Life comes naturally to all. Defending it… requires the steel we’re made of.”

“Leader of the Watchers indeed,” Seregil whispered, pleased. “Nysander couldn’t have said it better.”

Elani leaned over the table, thoroughly spurred to action. “What catches my attention the most is Neslin’s prophecy. An entire tribe of Aurenfaie propagating in the forests at the base of black mountains in complete and fatal secrecy. It’s like a ballad. Korathan and I discussed this one at length the most yesterday.”

Korathan cleared his throat at hearing his name and started pacing the floor. “The world has become small,” he started, hands resting behind his back with soldier’s ease. “Or Skala’s reach has grown too long. The pockets of mystery left to us are shrinking away. The Hazad cannot stay hidden forever. We know of their existence and general location; they’re not even a well kept secret anymore. It’s time for Skala to extend our hand in open faith with them.”

“They’re good people,” Seregil put in, stealing Korathan’s thunder. “They have great ‘a’tui,’ or ‘honor,’ among their tribe. But they are also cautious and fearful of outsiders. They have the best reasons to be! They see an army rolling towards them... and who know what hostile action they might assume. I advise against this, your Majesty. The only peace the Hazad will ever be comfortable with is the peace they find in solitude.”

He had spoken directly to Elani, knowing that she was the one he needed to convince.

“I’m sorry, Seregil,” Elani replied, sounding like a Queen again. “But the Viceregent, High Commander Klia, the leader of the Watchers himself, and I have already agreed upon this course of action.” Seregil resisted the urge to click his tongue out of annoyance. So Elani was not above pulling rank after all. “Things were put into motion early this morning. The Queen’s Horse will escort a dignitary to the Hazad’s borders. There we will sue for peace and understanding between our two nations.”

“That’s all well and good, Queen Elani, but Alec and I know the Hazadrialfaie. We’ve been tracked and hunted by them before. They have skilled warriors, possibly magicians or wizards, and other creatures we know little - if anything - about. It’s dangerous, especially because I can see in your eyes that you’ve already assigned a dignitary to this mission.” Elani eyed Seregil, remaining rigid. “You want to go treat with them personally, don’t you, your Highness?”

Elani tightened her jaw, and Seregil could tell that Korathan had been teaching her how to make her royal decisions with care. And resolution. Seregil knew that by the way she held herself, Elani’s mind was already made up, that same stubbornness being a constant in every line of Skala’s Queens.

“Seregil,” Queen Elani called, bringing all the attention back to her. “Of all those obstacles you’ve described, the ones at the Hazad’s disposal. Were they not also true of Plenimar?”

Seregil realized quickly that he was meant to answer. “Yes, your Highness.”

“Plenimar’s army was as large as ours, they had powerful necromancers casting magic to horrifically kill my soldiers, and even dug up dra’gorgos out of shadows, beings we had entirely forgotten even existed until they were ripping through our formations. Tell me, Seregil, if I were to march my army to Plenimar’s doorstep today, and asked for peaceful transparency between us, would you advise against that too?”

“No, your Highness. Your Majesty and her predecessors have routed them beyond the point of resistance.” Seregil settled his glare on Thero. The wizard didn’t blink. “However… lest we forget, the Retha’noi are also allies of the Hazad. Their witches are just as suspicious and contemptuous of Skalans as any Plenimaran. Worse yet, we know just as little about their culture, power, and numbers as we do the Hazadrialfaie.”

“Ziemert is Retha’noi,” Thero said, at last speaking up. “He sat in front of me with a teacup in his hand, excited to finally be getting back to his heritage when he keeled over. Now he can’t even say his own name. This poor, young boy who had nothing but kindness and curiosity and love of his ancestors in his heart... will now never be able to appreciate his own people in ernest. As we travel north, I will personally entreat with the Retha’noi. And I will return Ziemert to his people so that they may inspect his condition as well. In a gesture of sincerity. Perhaps their Moon Goddess has other plans for Ziemert.”

“An excuse to gain an audience, you mean,” Seregil snapped. “They won’t loose their arrows at you when you have a hostage for a shield.” Thero only shook his head at this with disdain. “And you, Korathan. What kind of twisting have you done to weave your guilt out of this tapestry? Just going to allow Elani to waltz into the woods and get her throat slit by assassins?”

“Skala is now the major power on this continent. We do not need to fear Aurenfaie who have buried their heads in the snow for generations. They could have ten thousand trained archers and assassins for all I care. With a tenth of that number at her back, I would deliver Elani to their gates, and later toast her victory and health.”

Hubris, Seregil shouted in his mind. “Klia,” he implored, growing desperate. “This could start another war, right on the heels of one that was already devastating to this country enough. You feel secure sending Elani there, so soon into our fresh peacetime?”

“I was made by Sakor to be a warrior,” Klia responded with confidence. “But what does a sword do when it is sheathed? Nothing. Rusts. But that steel can be smelted into plows, nails, and shears; and the leather given freely to the poor for tents and clothes. I have seen plenty of wartime, and I can ride out to battle tonight if it came to it. But I have to admit, I like the taste of peace. I want to share its flavor with the Hazadrialfaie. Through communication, all things are possible, and now we have a sign from Illior telling us to go talk with them!”

Klia paused to catch her breath. She grinned smugly and stood at attention. “Besides, I felt secure sending Elani to Kouros. And it was on that island where I myself was almost tortured to death by an undead dyr’magnos. You remember Rhazat, the First Necromancer? Who wore the skin of another woman to hide her hideous, decaying face, and forced me to eat the flesh off the bones of my own honor guard just so I could live in her realm without starving? Queen Elani slept a month on that island with no incident.”

“But we were there to stop Rhazat from regaining her former strength!” Seregil bellowed.

“Exactly,” Elani stated. Seregil went quiet as she seated herself, resting her dominant hand on the hilt of the Sword of Gehrilain, the royal Skalan claymore. “That is why you will also be there to prevent anything similar from happening again. I command this as Queen. And as a side note, Seregil, perhaps I was overeager in giving you liberty to speak freely in front of me. If this is how you behave when you don’t get your way, I may have to reconsider that decision.”

The slight cut Seregil’s spirit to ribbons. He had not been dressed down so succinctly and for such a deserved reason since his father’s scoldings when he was a child. It did occur to him that he was acting a bit out of character. Even so, his heart was too heavy at this news to ignore. He sought out Alec’s eyes for aid, but Alec wasn’t looking at him. “Alec,” Seregil breathed, using up the last of the air in his lungs.

“I happen to agree,” Alec spoke aloud, turning to face Queen Elani. “With you, your Majesty. I have seen and known the Hazadrialfaie to be dangerous. Ruthless even. They murdered my mother, on purpose, as a punishment for her betraying their laws. But High Commander Klia has also given that same order when a traitorous cabal threatened her life. Still I love and trust Princess Klia no less, and think of her as a sister, much like I’m sure you do, Elani. I’ve broken bread with the Hazad, shared songs with them, risked my life for theirs, these hunters who wanted me dead.” Alec then, at last, allowed his eyes to fall on Seregil.

“I am a descendent of the Hazadrialfaie. Their blood runs in my veins, and that connects me to them. I refuse to equate them with torturers and necromancers. I would like to call them my family.”

Seregil shook the dazed look off his face and sighed. “I can do the math. I’m soundly outvoted. And I apologize to you, specifically, Alec. I didn’t mean to imply the Hazad are anything like the Plenimarans.”

“Baron Alec, it will be your honor to host the Royal Family at your hometown of Ivywell,” Elani informed them, briskly moving on. “It’s the closest village to these ‘black mountains’ as well, so it serves additionally as a good base of operations for us as we negotiate with the Hazad.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Alec interrupted, wincing. “Did you say my hometown of Ivywell? Your Majesty, I’m originally from Kerry. And even then, I was a lone orphan growing up. I don’t know a single person in Mycena.”

Elani’s face dropped, and she tilted her glance upward at Prince Korathan in surprise. “But you said… Alec of Ivywell, the ward given to Seregil from the Gareth family, right?”

“Not right,” Seregil grumbled, already peeling through all the layers of this inconvenient mess up. “Alec and I met in a jail cell, trying not get our feet put to the fire. Later, we forged that pedigree for Alec. Years ago. All of his documents, even his birth certificate, are forged. It was a cover so people didn’t think I picked up some random boy from Mycena and spirited him away.”

“Which, when you say it that way,” Klia chuckled, “sounds pretty accurate, really.” “But we already sent out the rider,” Elani growled, pinching the brim of her nose.

“He may not be too far along if you only sent him out this morning,” Alec postulated. “Even at a fast gallop, they’d barely be a half a dozen miles from the city. I bet we could catch up with them before they reach the border between Mycena and Skala.”

“And drop these prophecies like seven sacks of potatoes?” Seregil grumbled, running his fingers through his hair. “I think we have more pressing matters to attend to. Damn it, Korathan, why didn’t you warn Elani of this?”

Korathan furrowed his brows in anger. “Careful. You’re a bull in the market square today, Seregil. You think I have time to keep up with every lie you’ve ever told someone? I’m busy running a country with my niece, thank you. I don’t have time for your charades.”

“Though, if the real citizens of Ivywell know nothing about your ruse,” Thero added, “it might not ever get brought up in conversation to begin with. Certainly if your identities are uncovered, and Alec’s lie brought to light, it would create numerous problems for us here in Rhiminee but…” Thero stretched his hands out over the desk, motioning towards the six scrolls of paper. “At least none of them would be world ending.”

Klia had been observing Elani, noticing that something wasn’t right with the young girl’s body language. She had withdrawn into herself, changing back into something more resembling the teenager she was. “Elani, what’s wrong?”

The Queen composed herself with a deep inhale. Once steady, she came forward. “When Seregil and Alec became the Barons of Mirrormoon, they were elevated in status beholden to that station in the eyes of the Royal Court. There are… customs, traditions, really, that go along with that promotion.”

Seregil gasped when the thought clicked in his head. He spoke the law from memory: “Any land holdings outside of Skalan territories but still owned by members of Skala’s court can become stewardships under the Queen. Mycena agreed to that stipulation back when your Grandmother, Queen Idrilain, ruled Skala.”

“As per Alec’s right,” Elani hissed caustically, “this means that Ivywell became a stewardship of Skala under Alec’s governance. I sent them a chest of gold and a nicely written letter, thinking to be done with it without any ceremony.”

“A chest of gold?!” Seregil shouted, unable to catch himself. “Your Highness, Ivywell is... is… a barn! You could have given them a handful of golden cestors and they would have been able to live in luxury for the next year!”

“When we became Barons?” Alec thought out loud. “But that was nearly two years ago… and there still hasn’t been any word of unrest. They didn’t send back the gold or ask for a clearer explanation?”

Elani shook her head, obviously becoming chafed by the shame of this mistake she made. Despite her blustering, she really did care for Alec and Seregil, and did not want to accidentally cause them trouble. Her cheeks were glowing red, but her expression was serious.

“I literally have not heard a word from them since, and had forgotten all about Ivywell until just this morning. We were looking for suitable places to make an encampment when the name jumped out at me. Regardless of all that, the gears are already in motion.”

Elani bolted to her feet and strode for the door, ending their meeting abruptly. She pivoted a final time, giving each them a look of acknowledgment. “I do have other matters that require my attention today. I leave these prophecies in your capable hands, Master Thero. And Seregil? About Ivywell. You have a week before we set off to meet with the Hazad. You have until then to figure out another clever lie to cover up your other one. As it stands, we are going there, so make sure you’re ready.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Seregil confirmed, bowing low until he couldn’t hear her receding footsteps anymore. When he straightened back up, he was by himself, all alone in the vacated room.


	4. Chapter 3: Watchers Old and New

**Chapter 3**

**Watchers Old and New**

 

 

“Maybe next time when we make these decisions, you won’t still be sleeping in,” Thero berated Seregil, not even attempting to filter the animosity out of his words.

“As I recall,” Seregil spat, exceeding pace with Thero so as to be the first to storm off in anger. “You were aware of these events occurring - in real time! - and didn’t think to ask us about it until the puzzle stumped you. And siding with Her Majesty on what is most definitely going to be a dangerous, lethal, swashbuckling, cloak and dagger adventure - ” the word took so much energy to blast past his spiteful tone that Seregil ran out of air and had to choke off to inhale.

Thero jogged to catch up with Seregil, powered by his frustration, raising his voice to carry. “That aside! There is something happening!” Seregil stopped at that, and Thero gladly came to rest next to him. Taking deep breaths, he put his hand on Seregil’s shoulder to support himself.

Alec didn’t get caught up in the race. He wasn’t one to fall for pissing contests. The argument would have looked disastrous to those who didn’t know how the two used to bicker with each other. He looked on from the steps of the courtyard as the two re-engaged in conversation.

“This is Watcher business, Seregil,” Thero reminded him, clutching his hand ever tighter on the man’s shoulder. “At first, the prophecies were state secrets. I couldn’t get you involved.”

Batting the hand away, Seregil huffed. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

“I wasn’t entirely sure how you’d react. And I think you’ve proven my case for me. Seregil, you’re so much more level-headed than this. Something has gotten into you.”

Thero’s words put Seregil at a pause. He knew that no matter what answer he came up with, it could be written away as pittance, a lie, a fabrication, or an exaggeration. Nobody expected the full truth from Seregil i’ Korit, bastard of Auranen, a man who burst from the womb with bile on his tongue, speaking naught but poison from the very first.

Seregil was trapped. He knew when all the doors and windows were closed around him. So the only thing he could do was say nothing. Thero loomed, the shade of the trees darkening his face. Seregil gave a wary sneer.

“Going to read my mind?” he asked, caustically. “Would you do that to me? Without my consent? For the Queen.”

“I see your move,” Thero said, trying to sound gentle. “You answer my accusation with one of your own. Not only that, but you bring into question my loyalty with you when it rubs up against my loyalty to Skala and… my family.” Seregil’s face dropped, his malice quelled with a drench of sadness. “It was a test. A probe into my allegiances, to see if I was still your friend, to put me on the defensive. But in reality that statement was a deflection. For if I was smart - like you - I wouldn’t say anything in response to your debasement.”

Thero stepped into the daylight, and smiled warmly. He took Seregil’s hand and clapped it together with his until both of them relaxed. “I don’t need to read your mind Seregil. I’ve read your behaviors. I know the kind of person you are. But you don’t threaten me, Seregil. Though you thrust your knife at my eyes, I do not flinch.”

Seregil recognized the importance of that phrase. He swallowed hard, and nodded to Thero, signaling that his rage had sputtered out. He was thinking clearly again.

“Doesn’t mean much coming from me, but...” Thero chuckled, just loud enough so that Seregil would never be able to prove with certainty that the wizard actually told a joke. “Listen, Seregil, I have something to say. As a friend. As somebody who loves you.” Thero put the palm of his hand onto Seregil’s cheek and sighed. “You haven’t changed at all, Seregil… And I think… that may be the problem.”

The two of them silently walked arm in arm together back to where Alec stood. He had waited patiently for them, whittling an apple from a nearby tree into a goofy expression, nibbling at the scraps he sliced away.

“Nothing like a morning run,” Alec quipped, eyeing the two of them as they approached.

“Yes, my head is much cleared,” Seregil confirmed. He stretched a few more times for appearances, and the adrenaline that tagged along was in fact useful. “I am now completely awake.”

“I made this, thinking of Tamir,” Alec said, handing the already yellowing apple core to Thero. They gingerly exchanged the piece of art, and Thero smiled widely after he used his wizard-eye to inspect the apple. “Just make sure she doesn’t eat it,” he added, wiping his fingers against his pant leg.

“Oh I doubt she will,” Thero stated, showing off that the apple was now made entirely of wood. Alec’s carving was perfectly preserved in striking detail, making its funny face come to fuller life. Thero clicked his tongue and snapped the stem from the top, flicking it away with his thumb. He then brought the wooden apple to his mouth and breathed on it. With the hem of his robe, Thero polished the wood with his spellbound breath, until the thing was gleaming and smooth. “There, it’s wonderful!”

“Thero, that’s incredible,” Alec gawked, still greatly amused by the ease of Thero’s tricks.

“Alec, you’ve seen me turn pears to wood before. It’s no great feat. But this,” Thero indicated to the apple’s face. “This was art created by you, and it’s with finer skill than anything my magic could finesse. Alec, this will probably be one of Tamir’s most cherished gifts.”

Alec blushed with genuine meekness, but also grinned, showing off his teeth. Seregil floated for a moment - in his head - before returning to the ground.

“I think there is one more thing we all need to agree upon before any of us go our separate ways.” Seregil reached out his hands to corral the boys together into a huddle. He looked both of them sternly in the eye before continuing. “Micum Cavish isn’t coming.”

Seregil’s eye flickered towards Alec, searching for his talimenios’ answer.

“Agreed,” Thero said.

Seregil snapped his head back to Thero with no shortage of surprise. “Good, yes,” Seregil patted Thero on the shoulder. “I was originally asking Alec first, but, yes.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” Thero harrumphed.

“Because I was looking at - ” Seregil broke off and shook his head. He rubbed his tali’s back, before slipping his fingers through that golden hair.

Alec locked his gaze with Seregil’s. He raised an eyebrow with some sass. “Agreed.”

“Everyone agrees?” Seregil confirmed, cautiously, breaking away from the circle with a few back steps.

“You were expecting something different?” Alec commented.

“Micum is not like us,” Thero said, gesturing to present company. “He’s tierfaie. ‘Short lived.’ In this land, they are the many, and we are the few. There will come a time when we will have to mourn for Micum Cavish…”

Alec cut in, his jaw clenched staunchly. “And I don’t want that time to be in the middle of a crisis or far away from his home and loved ones.” Alec’s eyes became red and misty, but he blinked away any tears. It was all too easy to imagine an infinite number of ways his friend could perish. Brutal, tortuous, heroic ways. And Micum would go down swinging, shouting curses, beating back death with his fists like some kind of juggernaut. Seregil and Alec would both write beautiful ballads of his heroics and sing them together while hiking. They would enthrall new companions around campfires of the tales of the legendary Micum Cavish, the bravest man they knew.

But once all was said and done, each of those stories would end the same way:

_And then he died._

Everyone in that loose circle, deep in their hearts, wanted to say those four words some day with absolutely no strings of agony attached.

Another tear found its way down Alec’s cheek, and he breathed, “Micum’s not coming.”

“Micum’s not coming,” Seregil echoed.

“Micum stays home with his family,” Thero stated with finality. “But that means we are one Watcher short.”

“We have Beka,” Alec pointed out. Thero shook his head.

“She is already one of us, and will be coming along on this journey as Commander of the Queen’s Horse regardless.”

Seregil snapped his fingers. “We have Beka!” he exclaimed.

“Please tell me you’re paying attention,” Alec growled.

“No, no,” Seregil laughed, waving Alec off. “We have Beka, and as a result, we have her resources in tow. And who is Beka’s most valuable resource?”

“Nyal,” Thero gasped, his face lighting up.

“Beka’s talimenious and husband, Nyal?” Alec asked incredulously.

Seregil hit Alec’s shoulder with a limp backhand. “Excuse me? And what am I?”

“Salted cod, by the smell of you,” Alec joked. Seregil nearly swung for him, but knew that Alec would be waiting for it.

“Let’s go see Nyal now,” Thero proposed. “The entirety of the Queen’s Horse is just outside the city getting prepared. It would be easiest to go and get this over with now.”

“Actually,” Alec offered, holding out his hand to stop Thero. “I was thinking. We are admittedly short handed, us Watchers. We can’t really go around all huddled in a group from task to task until all of us are assembled, are we?”

Thero thought this over a minute. His beard quivered as he made a hidden expression with his lips. “You’re right, Alec. What did you have in mind?”

“These prophecies are a pressing matter,” Alec explained, taking charge. “And our main objective is to solve their riddle. I’m not…” Alec bit his lip, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not yet convinced that we have all the clues together. I want to go visit those people, observe and inspect their surroundings. I might turn up something about their past or where they were at the time that made them so special. Illior works in mysterious ways, but not impossible ones.”

“Our prophets may yet be teeming with information to reap,” Seregil conceded, his hand on his chin. “Alright, Alec is on riddle duty, Thero and I go talk to Beka and Nyal. Surely we’ll find that they are never too far apart from each other.”

“Actually, Seregil, I need to head back to the Oreska House before I can commit my afternoon to this venture. I have some things to put to rights. Projects to extinguish, really.” Thero turned to go, but Seregil called back to him.

“Wait, don’t you have to do the knife test?”

Thero laughed out loud at this, and Seregil was caught off guard. It wasn’t often that Thero put Seregil to the butt of a joke, but here it seemed to have happened twice in one morning.

“The ‘knife test’ on Nyal? Certainly, it needs to be done. It’s an important ritual that determines a person’s true loyalty. But Nyal was already a capable spy before Alec was born. And by war’s end, I’m sure he’s more than a capable soldier as well. To top everything off, he’s married to Beka, a Watcher herself, and no amount of oaths are going to keep some secrets hidden from the talimenious bond.” Thero held out his hands, gesturing toward both Seregil and Alec.

“Rituals don’t always have to be life and death,” Thero finished, again turning to go. “Get Nyal up to speed on all this nastiness. Leave out what you feel necessary, but tell him about the Watchers. He may know of us already. I’ll catch up to you later this afternoon and put my seal of approval on him then.”

Seregil watched Thero go for a minute or two, just in case the wizard was inclined to add any more to his speech. But Thero kept walking calmly away, and eventually vanished from the courtyard.

“Very good thinking, tali,” Seregil whispered, coming closer together. “I dare say, you are the best nightrunner out of us all.” Seregil leaned in to kiss Alec, who accepted it but pulled away chastely. He hooked his index finger into Seregil’s mouth.

“If you flatter me like that enough times, it will turn into a curse, Seregil. I’m serious.”

Seregil backed away with a comical gait, chortling. “You Dalnans. I’d curse you with a Dalnan swear word, but I don’t think they exist.”

Alec took in a deep breath before shouting: “SALTED COD!”

Seregil threw his hands up in defeat, and started to jog once again. “Have fun, tali!” he sang from over his shoulder, a ringing soprano. “Hope you solve the riddle! I’ll give Beka your best, eh?”

Once Alec had finished laughing, he gauged time by the sun, and struck off in a different direction.

Some distance away, Alec felt the nagging urge to turn around and look behind him, like a tug against the tiny hairs that line his neck. He lazily pivoted, casually, expecting nothing. But as his keen eyes swept through the streets, who did Alec happen to spy?

“Work never done?” Alec asked, landing on the balls of his feet, allowing Thero to catch up with him.

“Never,” Thero huffed. “But I did have a thought, and you were close enough still for me to track you down and share it. Why don’t you take along Mika?”

“Mika! Your adorable little apprentice!” Alec beamed. Despite eagerly wanting to see the boy again after such a long time, he was quietly worried he wouldn’t get any true work done while also babysitting.

“He’d better not hear you say that,” Thero chided, humorlessly. “You haven’t been spending enough time around him lately. He misses you immensely and wants you to teach him, make him street smart. In reality, I’m giving him to you to be his tutor today.”

“Do you think I’d have his or his mother’s blessing to potentially get him into danger?” Alec asked, concerned.

Thero crooked a wicked grin. “Take him with you, he’s in my chambers at the Oreska House. You’ll find him ready to explode out of those walls, I imagine. I’ve known wizards to have pupils who hate learning, but never because they already have learned so much. Mika has nothing to do for me but busywork. He could really use a breath of fresh air. And he’s much more resourceful than you give him credit for.”

Thero adjusted his robes proudly, allowing himself a smug stance. “I would never send him to burgle a house, but if I asked young Mika to bring me a document and not get caught doing it, by the gods, he would bring me that document. He may end up impressing you, Alec.”

“Aren’t we going to the same place?” Alec asked curtly.

“I have more unfinished business here. Never a moment’s rest for me, Alec, my boy.” Thero clapped his hand onto Alec’s shoulder and shook him good naturedly. Alec looked into his grey eyes for a moment, and wanted to believe that some part of Thero still experienced the grateful expression Alec was giving him.

\-----

Thero glided easily through the residential palace halls. All the guards there knew to let him pass, and the servants would not have raised objection either way since it was not their place. Only the two women in armor who defended the wide doors of the Royal Quarters barred Thero from immediate entrance.

“Feathers in flight,” Thero mumbled, and the guards exchanged looks.

“You remember this week’s pass code,” the first officer smiled. “I wonder if you recall last week’s as well? Master Thero? If that’s really you.”

“Seabass foam,” Thero said, grinning smugly. “You are doing fine work, soldiers. I expect this type of interrogation always. There are never inconveniences in the defense and security of my daughter.”

The women saluted briefly, then returned to attention, allowing Thero to go through into the next hallway unimpeded.

Klia met Thero at the open entrance of the nursery. She gave him a sly look, and pointed her finger at him as if to say: I knew you’d come back!

Thero made it just in time to see Tamir off to her daily lessons at the Oreska House. There, she would play among friends, be provided a lunch, and then be returned at the end of the night into the custody of the Royal House. All the while, Thero would most likely be nearby in his own workspace should trouble occur. Klia shook her head at him as they walked yet again into the courtyard.

“At this point, you could have just met her at the Oreska House,” Klia teased, and Thero allowed himself a chuckle.

“I’m not going to be there very much today. I’m afraid I’m barely keeping my head above water these days. Everything has been going so fast, I’ve not had any time to my family. I want to at least be able to wave her carriage goodbye.”

“It’s going to be difficult,” Klia agreed, sensing the true meaning of Thero’s words. As parents, they had yet to stray very far from their first born. She was everything to them, and knowing that they would never be able to take her with them on their quest, that both of them were leaving her behind….

Thero’s heart swelled as he watched the horses trot away with Tamir. He found himself lost in his own thoughts. Is this what Nysander went through? Is this how his master felt? This dismal burden. The premature guilt that premonitions leave behind in their wake. How he too had been struck with a vision while meditating not but a month ago. One that threatened to rip the Watchers apart from the inside out.

A dark secret that only Thero knew.

“Oh Nysander,” he sighed out loud, gripping the palm of his wife’s hand even harder. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t kinder to you at the end. I pray to the gods I do not make that mistake again.”

\-----

Alec and Mika had pushed their way through the crowds on their road to the Temple Quarter. They decided against horses, since Mika was mostly uncomfortable around them. Nothing against the lad’s stock, but horses had always made Mika uneasy; and it didn’t help that his time as a captive with Klia by the evil Razhat in her cursed domain presented an impressionable Mika with reasons to dislike horses all the more.

But the two were brisk walkers by nature, Alec his woodsman’s stride and Mika with an energetic skip apace of him. They made good time, and slipped easily through a public teeming with rumors.

Word spread quickly of the seven people who suddenly fainted and could not be revived. Rhiminee was an echo chamber. But like a true echochamber, the louder the rumble, the more mixed up the message gets. Alec overheard some snippets from passers-by. By now, the whole city knew there were seven people involved for a fact. Though Alec noted that the results of this mass fainting spell was irrevocably muddled. Nobody knew if it was a sickness, a curse, or just a coincidence. Some thought it was an elaborate murder ritual, and it spelled ill omens for everybody in the capitol. Many others still didn’t believe it happened at all.

“That’s good,” Mika commented, smiling up at Alec. “Nobody else knows what’s going on for real. Just us!” It appeared Mika had come to the same conclusion as Alec in just as much time.

“Makes you feel kind of special, doesn’t it?” Alec said, returning Mika’s grin. Mika was indeed impressing Alec. He barely recognized the gangly 13 year-old when Wethis showed Alec into Thero’s chambers. The boy remained polite and courteous, just as Alec remembered him being. But he’d grown noticeably taller, and his voice was noticeably deeper. It cracked cutely any time Mika became enthusiastic, and Alec couldn’t stop himself from becoming instantly reattached with the youth. Alec was still heads taller than him, however, but in a few years that was not going to be the case if this latest trend was any indication.

“We’re on our way,” Mika began, excitedly. He wore plain civilian clothes, instead of his Oreska uniform, to keep suspicions at bay. His loose pants, however, kept threatening to fall around his ankles, so he eventually tied the hem of them up near his hips. “We going to see the old lady first, right?”

“Madame Old Lady has a proper name,” Alec reprimanded, and Mika rolled his eyes, thinking Alec wasn’t looking. “Also, not a great idea to talk about your plan out in open. We’ve been doing some eavesdropping; it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine somebody might be dropping eaves back on us.”

Mika look puzzled. “Then it wouldn’t be a conversation,” he said. “How else would we communicate?”

Alec ground to a halt and nudged Mika to the side of the road. Once the threat of being run over by the flow of people was gone, Alec turned Mike to face him. With elegant movements, Alec formed his fingers and hands into intricate gestures and maneuvers. They happened so quickly, it looked like Alec was just inspecting himself and his clothes. Just as rapidly, it was over, and Mika was left speechless.

“There,” Alec smirked haughtily. “I just told you the entire plan. With a little extra detail spread in there for flair and flavor. Did you catch any of it?”

“I saw the sign for ‘Watcher,’” Mika admitted, but he trailed off. “Oh, and I still remember the dog trick! I’ve used it a lot already!” To prove himself, Mika retracted his middle two fingers to extend his three remaining ones. “Soora thasali,” Mike spoke in the Aurenfaie language, and turned his outstretched hand like a key in a lock.

Alec clapped his hands, and Mika blushed. “You master things so quickly, Mika. It’s almost scary. How would you like to learn a little nightrunning while we’re out?”

Mika’s face was still red, but his eyes lit up at Alec’s words. “I thought that’s what we were already doing.”

Alec sniffed and wiped his nose with his thumb in a cocky gesture. “This, my friend, has quite literally been a walk in the park. Let’s make a game of it. I don’t think Thero plays many games with you, does he?”

Mika kicked the dirt with his boots. “Actually, Master Thero and I play a lot of strategy games together, and sometimes card games if he’s in a good mood. But most of the time we play them expressly because he wants me to learn a lesson.”

“Well, this game is going to be a bit more athletic, though no less strategic, I think.” Alec brought Mika close in a friendly arm-hug, whispering into his ear. “Hide and Seek has always been my favorite game. This is sort of like that, only you’re going to know exactly where I’ll be.”

Alec pointed to the sun. “When the daylight reaches that point in the sky,” Alec arched his arm along the star’s path, resting his finger at a new location. “You’ll find me at the Temple of Illior in the Temple District. Right out front on the steps. Not a moment sooner. Your job… is to catch me before I reach the temple. Got it?”

Mika was already bouncing up and down. “Are there any rules? Limitations?”

“That’s the best question to ask, Mika, very good. No, no rules. Feel free to even use whatever magic you currently have at your disposal.”

Mika scrunched up his face at this. “That would be too easy.”

Alec’s expression creased with a devious smirk. “Let’s see if you still feel that way once you lose track of me. Well, do as you please. Just know, if you happen to get lost or desperate, you are allowed to use magic to get yourself out of it. But if you think it will spoil the game, then…”

“Oh c’mon, let’s just play!” Mika cried, barely able to hold still.

“Alright, alright! Just one more condition. I get a head start.” Mika nodded his head at this. It was only fair.

“How long you need? A minute? I’ll close my eyes and count to sixty.”

Alec placed his hand on top of Mika’s head, ruffling his hair. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. “And count to ten.”

“Ten!” Mika exclaimed.

“Don’t you dare say ‘that’s too easy’!” Alec said, giving the boy’s hair a sharp tug. “I was going to say five seconds, but I didn’t want to give you too much of a handicap. It just goes to show you how much faith I have in your abilities. Don’t want the game to be over too quickly. Alright, come on now, Mika. Close your eyes and start counting. Go!”

Mika did as he was told, though he laughed to himself under his breath. How far could Alec really get in 10 seconds? Even if he bolted at top speed - which Mika heard no evidence something like that had happened - Alec would never get down the block amongst all the bustling before Mika could catch up to him. He was starting to think Alec still considered Mika as just a child, and was treating him as such, when he opened his eyes.

Alec was nowhere to be seen. Vanished like a ghost. Not even a ripple in the crowds.

Mika gulped.

\-----

Seregil made it to the outer postern that the Queen’s Horse was stationed in by that afternoon. The camp tents had been set up in a circular formation, with Beka’s in the center. Despite her prestigious rank in the midst of peacetime, the thick, wide tarp that made up the Commander’s tent was military-grade wool. Hardy, rigid, and warm. The only three things a soldier truly cared about.

Beka and Nyal met Seregil at a small cooking fire that had been built just outside their tent. The flames gave off generous amounts of offending smoke, forcing Seregil to turn his nose up and position himself upwind. He straightened his back, putting his best foot forward. “Commander,” he greeted with a bow.

“Bilary’s balls, Seregil,” Beka scoffed, “come here!” She took him into a squeeze of a hug, and Seregil coughed the wind from of his lungs. “It’s been gods know how long, why haven’t you written more? Do you know how boring it is being Commander of the Queen’s Horse with no war going on in Plenimar?”

Seregil sniggered at this. The natural levity and bolstering strength Beka gave off is what made her such an accomplished and battle-hardened general. He could feel his muscles loosen their tension just by standing next to her.

“It’s absolutely dreadful,” Nyal added, smiling his broad smile. Seregil took in the sight of Nyal for a moment - an Aurenfaie, like himself, with dark hair and olive brown skin. He had been an invaluable friend to Seregil and company, proving himself time and time again. Yet Seregil always felt a gnawing doubt in his heart; a subtle distrust. It was at once both instinctive and completely unfeasible. He could never be comfortable around people like Nyal. They were far too similar to Seregil, and Seregil knew what kind of man he was.

“Beka finds her enjoyment in the drills we run with Mycena,” Nyal continued. “At least there she gets to yell for real while pretending to fight.”

“The yelling is key to a proper sword stroke,” Beka argued. Seregil smirked, realizing in an instant that this was a topic the two warriors frequently returned to.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Seregil started, slouching with a sigh. “But things are getting quite exciting indeed. I’m afraid our peacetime may be in its death throes.” Beka and Nyal met each other’s eyes, exchanging dark looks. “I’ve come straight from the Queen. Beka? Watcher business.”

Beka nodded, glowering. “I understand. Nyal, could you do us a favor and - ”

“Join us in the tent,” Seregil finished for her. He caught the astonished look Beka shot at him, but kept his sights set on Nyal to witness the man’s reaction. Nyal remained maddeningly stoic, just as Seregil knew he would be.

Nyal led the way, with Beka dismissing the few captains who had cued up for their chance to speak with Commander Cavish. She set her guards to stand at the front of the tent, far enough out of hearing range from her sectioned off, personal cot. Holding back for a bit longer, Beka sent for her court mage, Essindi. She watched as the soldiers went about their business, taking the orders just as seriously as if they had been given on the battlefield. Beka couldn’t be more proud of them.

“Before we start,” Beka cautioned, joining Seregil and Nyal behind the drawn curtain. “I’ve sent for Essindi, the Oreska wizard assigned to the Queen’s Horse. I’m going to have her seal my tent off with a spell so there will be no chance of interference or being overheard.”

“Good choice,” Seregil agreed, gracefully taking a seat. “In the meantime, tell me about your recent conquests! Just how is Beka of Urgazi Turma, Commander of the Queen’s Horse?”

“What conquests?” Beka groaned, letting herself collapse into a chair. She spread her legs out, rolling her ankles in her boots, stretching. “Commander Beka Cavish, the first daughter of a ‘grass knight’ to become a Captain in the army let alone Commander…” She trailed off, her face dropping. These moments when Beka allowed her mask to slip away were rare, and brief even then. Seregil had known Beka since she was a baby, and though she was no longer a child, he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around her.

“Sakor’s Flame, Seregil,” Beka sighed, her voice shaky, clutching him tightly. “Father doesn’t have any adventuring left in him. He’s been so happy, spending his days on the farm, and his leg has only gotten stiffer with time. And I don’t think Mother would allow it besides!”

“That barely sounds like the Micum I know,” Seregil chided, putting Beka at arms length away from him and staring into her eyes. “If I’ve been restless the past couple of months, I can’t imagine how Kari hasn’t murdered him yet.”

Nyal stepped closer, offering Seregil a jug of water, who accepted it gratefully. “He’s still a knight of Skala,” Nyal reminded them. “In his last letter, Micum made mention that he was helping a town nearby to the Cavish holdings organize what he’s calling a ‘Lightwood Militia.’”

“Bandits and highway robbers have become common hazards at Watermead,” Beka said, shaking her head. “Something we didn’t anticipate when our armies returned home to a life of tranquility. Princess Klia thought we could use the additional soldiers to start rounding up the more threatening gangs and criminals. As soon as some of the more well connected thieves caught wind, they shuttered up shop. Went into hiding, and pushed other footpads out of the city into the surrounding villages.”

“Now we have patches of organized bandits hiding in the forests, preying upon towns like Watermead,” Nyal added. “Thus, the townsfolk are taking matters into their own hands. Organizing bands of their own that can be brought together at a moment’s notice to fight off invaders.”

“Like a lightwood catching a spark and starting an inferno,” Seregil mused, pleased at the poetry of the name they had given themselves. Micum had always been immeasurably clever.

“Father established his Lightwood Militia I’d say… three weeks ago?” Beka searched the desk next to her, half-heartedly pushing papers aside. “We haven’t heard from him since that last letter, however.”

Seregil saw the worry in Beka’s downcast eyes. He championed a grin. “I can only assume that means Watermead is bandit free by now, with Micum Cavish at the helm.” Beka returned the smile, the warmth coming back to her features. “I suspect he’s finding a position of authority is more boring than he’s used to. Much like the conclusion you’ve seem to come to yourself, Beka!”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Beka pleaded, “I love being Commander of the Queen’s Horse. I’ll admit I was going stir crazy, but now we have a real mission with actual danger. I’m feeling a lightwood of my own catching fire in my soul.”

“Sakor-touched,” Nyal laughed, kissing his wife on the cheek.

“Commander Cavish,” one of the female guards at the tent flap called. “Mistress Essindi has arrived, responding to your summons.”

“Show her in, Captain Darla,” Beka ordered, her voice booming with practiced ease. The Oreska wizard entered, smoothing out her court designated robes, and stood at attention with a blissful smile. Seregil couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at her. The girl looked no older than Beka herself, but had an expression that screamed Illior-touched.

“Commander, it is always a pleasure to be of service to you,” Essindi exclaimed, though she did not bow or salute like she should have.

“It’s a pleasure to be served by you, Essindi,” Nyal said, returning the compliment for his wife.

“I understand you’ve never actually seen combat,” Beka started gingerly. “But you’re still a talented spellcaster if I ever saw one.”

“Oh yes!” Essindi breathed a sigh of relief. “And I don’t think I ever want to see real combat! I think I’d quit being a wizard before that happens!” She let out a staccato of bubbly laughter, covering her mouth delicately with the back of her hand.

Again, Seregil - silently listening from the corner - balked at this woman’s complete lack of tact. Yet she laughed and bobbed her head to and fro as if what she had just said would never be interpreted as craven.

Beka cleared her throat, stifling a grin beneath her hard visage and sharing a conspiratorial glance with Nyal. “I’m sure you would find other uses for your gifts should that day ever arrive,” she said. Beka wanted desperately for the words to sound innocent, but the sarcasm still slipped through on the heels of her words. Essindi didn’t seem to notice. She just kept staring at Beka, a fool’s smile spread across her lips, waiting patiently for orders.

“You do know how to create barriers though,” Seregil stated, making the doubt in his voice obvious, even for someone with their head miles into the clouds like Essindi appeared to be. “So that nobody can listen in on the confidential news I bring from Queen Elani?”

“Oh of course!” Essindi confirmed with bravado. “I’ve performed the spell for Commander Cavish and Captain Nyal several times while in their employ.”

Seregil grimaced, not entirely convinced. The four of them stood in silence for several heartbeats, nobody moving. Beka and Nyal adjusted themselves, not saying a word; though the typically stoic Nyal did bark out a kind-hearted laugh before composing himself again.

Looking between the three of them, Seregil felt a hefty amount of confusion. His impatience crept up within him again. “So… would you?”

“Would I what?” Essindi responded, tilting her head to one side.

“Seal off the tent so that we can speak in private!”

“Oh!” Essindi looked to have been snapped out of trance. She pivoted briskly, waved her hands through the air, and summoned a wide circular sigil out of light on the ground. The crest expanded to encompass the entirety of Beka’s generous tent before settling from view into the dirt. “There!” Essindi cried, obviously proud of her work. “Speak in private with no fear of interruption, my Commander!”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Seregil spat, eager to have her leave. But Essindi just lifted her hand in acceptance of the complement and continued standing in silence. Another minute passed, and Seregil was beginning to the find the humor in the situation, much like Beka and Nyal obviously had learned to do themselves.

“My apologies,” Seregil said, putting on a foppish role for the Oreska wizard. “This is a matter for Commander Cavish and Captain Nyal.” He leaned forward, patting Essindi’s shoulder. “If you would excuse us, what I have to say is for their ears only. Queen Elani’s orders.”

This Essindi seemed to understand. She gawked, embarrassed, realizing at last that she had been dismissed several times over. “Oh, yes! Do accept my apologies as well, Ser…” she trailed off, looking dismayed at not knowing her guest’s name.

“Baron Seregil.”

“Ser Baron. I’ll leave you to it! Send for me again if you require me, Commander!” Essindi turned to the tent flap and swiped her arm to one side. A sigil appeared briefly across the opening before disintegrating into silver sand and vanishing. Essindi began to stride away, but Beka called after her.

“Essindi, dear,” she said with a smile. “You just undid the spell you put up for us.”

“Oh, by Dalna, I did!” Essindi repeated the motions and signs, but from outside the tent this time. Once the dust had settled, she flitted from sight, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she went.

“Bilary’s balls,” Seregil swore, at last allowing himself to laugh heartily. “Where did you find that one?”

“I didn’t,” Beka admitted. “She was assigned to me by Princess Klia. Came highly recommended from the Oreska House. Essindi tried my patience like no other when she first started working under my command, but over the past year I’ve learned to love her for who she is. I dare say I would trust her with my life at this point. As odd as that may seem.”

“Not at all,” Seregil said. “Appearances can often be misleading. I believe you when you say people speak highly of her talent. I just lost my temper for a moment. This has been one of the longest, most stressful days I’ve had in a while. I sincerely hope I did not color her impression of me in a negative light.” Seregil narrowed his eyes, feeling dastardly. “And you must trust her a great deal if you allow her to seal your tent for you… and Nyal.”

The meaning did not escape the two soldiers. Nyal didn’t tried to hide his expression this time, and his face colored brightly. Beka, on the other hand, let out a confirming laugh that sounded eerily similar to her father’s. “Take Illior’s blessings where you can get them, am I right, Seregil?”

“Which reminds me,” Seregil mused, ignoring the two love birds. “How much has Klia briefed you on what exactly is happening?”

Beka shrugged at this. “We’re going into Mycena to meet with the Hazadrielfaie. Queen Elani wants to make peace between our peoples. But if you ask me, I’d say the Hazad are a bit too paranoid to accept our hand of friendship without also hiding a knife in the other.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all morning,” Seregil grumbled angrily. He sneered for a moment, but let the unpleasant emotion run off his back. “Still, there’s no changing Her Majesty’s mind once it’s been made up. I only hope the Hazadrielfaie take this seriously…”

“Agreed,” Nyal added, looking grim. “Despite all their secrets and potential danger, if it came to all out war, the Hazad wouldn’t last a month against Skala. If they were smart, they would realize this themselves.”

Seregil shook his head, his mind swimming with all sorts of thoughts, none of them as productive as he would have liked. “It’s bad strategy to assume what your enemy is going to do. Beka, you and your riders need to be prepared for anything. Hazad hunters, assassins, the Rethanoi witches, and even the rekharo.”

Beka steeled herself, firelight gleaming in her pupils. Her resolve was palpable, and Seregil felt confident in Beka’s ability to command under pressure.

“But that’s not all of it,” Seregil warned, raising his hands to call attention to himself. Beka and Nyal looked on expectantly. Seregil disregarded the apprehension beating in his heart and huddled the couple closer to him.

Beka sat in stunned silence, her fingers folded in front of her face while she balanced her elbows on her desk. She had not said a word the the entire time Seregil recited the prophecies and explained who the Watchers were to Nyal.

“Now I really don’t like this,” she growled at long last. “I thought we’d washed our hands of necromancy. But Seriamaius rears his ugly head once more.”

Nyal frantically clawed at Beka’s wrist, taking her into his tight grasp. Beka looked up in astonishment as Nyal shuddered visibly, turning green. “Just… Eater of Death, if you will. If you must refer to ‘the one’, please don’t use his true name, talia. It quite literally makes me sick to hear it.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Beka apologized, cradling his hands with her own. “And because my father is too old to help in battle, Thero is going to force his retirement and replace him with Nyal.”

“That’s it exactly,” Seregil confirmed. “What do you say, Nyal? Are you with us?”

“It was never a question,” Nyal confirmed. “I’ll be a Watcher with you and my wife. If I can protect this world from that evil, then I will gladly do so.”

Seregil nodded, feeling like he accomplished his mission with flying colors. Beka stood to go about her duties, setting preparations into motion, but before her right foot could fall onto the soil outside her tent, she staggered back with a grunt.

“Bilary’s filthy codpiece!” Beka shouted, holding her head in her hands with a grimace of pain. “Essindi sealed us inside the tent along with sealing everyone else out. Again!” Beka waited for her throbbing head to calm down, then politely called Nyal to her side. “Grab one of her painted message sticks from my desk, will you?”

“That’s a waste of a perfectly good spell,” Seregil chided. “Allow me. I’ll break through the sigil and bring her back to release you two.” Without waiting for a reply, Seregil outstretched his arms and pushed into the invisible barrier. A second later, the sigil appeared at his touch, glowing an angry red. Seregil ignored the sharp sting through his temples, and stepped through into the open air with a gasp of relief.

He faced Beka and Nyal from outside, giving a theatrical bow. “Sometimes being wonky when it comes to magic can be advantageous, as well as a curse!”

Beka replied with a tender half-smile, cupping her ear with her palm, indicating that she couldn’t actually hear him through the seal. Seregil rolled his eyes, sour that his quip had gone unheard, and began inquiring as to Essindi’s whereabouts.

\-----

Mika drifted into the Temple Square, downtrodden, sweaty, and disappointed in himself. He had run up and down several alleyways, even slyly asked people on the street if they had seen his ‘cousin’ Alec come by their way. All to no avail. No matter who he talked to or how far he roamed, nobody had seen anyone that matched Alec’s description.

The sun had already moved past the designated point in the sky, and Mika started rubbing at his eyes angrily, trying to grind away the tears before they fell in earnest. He had been so confident that he’d be able to at least catch sight of Alec at some point, but he hadn’t been able to do even that.

Alec was indeed waiting for him on the steps, already deep in conversation with one of the high priestesses of Dalna. He acknowledged Mika with a smile and a wave before returning his attention to the elderly woman.

“Lord Alec, you and your husband have been most gracious with your donations,” the priestess was saying when Mika took his place at Alec’s side. “Never has the Temple of Dalna had such faithful and dutiful patrons. Though if you don’t mind my telling you, giving a tithe to Temples of Astellas and Sakor would also be greatly appreciated.”

“Of course, Old Mother,” Alec stated graciously.

“The gods have no use for gold,” the priestess replied, showing off her toothless smile. “But man cannot by bread with prayer. And the other priests are made of flesh and blood, susceptible to sin... and envy.”

“Thank you, Old Mother,” Alec said, holding her wrinkled hands. They both shared a wink. “Too many look upon my garb and are too afraid to speak to me, a high noble, about such things as money. I was truthfully unaware that the other temples held such animosity. I will talk to Seregil about a new tithe distributed among each temple of the Four.”

“Mother’s blessings upon you,” the priestess bowed. After noisily straightening her tired back upright, she reached into her pocket and handed Mika a piece of chocolate wrapped in rough paper. “And upon you, Young Son. Today is a blessed day, and it pains me to see a boy like yourself be sad.”

Mika stared at the chocolate in his palm, mouth agape. He hadn’t realized his expression had betrayed him so. Instead of eating the candy, as he normally would, he stuffed it into his shirt and gave the priestess an appreciative nod.

“I’m sorry if I made the game too easy,” Alec started, leading Mika further into the square. Mika noticed that Alec wasn’t wearing the same clothes he had on when they first split up.

“What happened to your clothes?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Seregil and I have caches of supplies stashed all over the city,” Alec explained. “They’re hidden away in places only he and I know about. There was one of these caches about a block away from here. There, I changed into more noble dressings. Both to put on appearances for anybody watching, and with the added bonus of keeping you from finding me easily.”

“Because I could have tracked you with magic using the clothes you were already wearing…” Mika said softly, barely above a whisper.

“So you really didn’t use magic to try and find me?” Alec asked, sensing Mika’s low mood. “And here I even set up a little trap for you.” Mika’s expression turned from hurt to shock, and Alec realized with a grimace that the boy wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Nothing scary!” Alec said, holding up his hands. “It was just a little tripwire across a door frame. The worst outcome being you getting your knees bruised. If you didn’t catch it in time, that is.”

Mika made no reply. He had fallen sullenly into silence again, which was unnerving. To see him like this broke Alec’s heart in familiar ways. He just wanted to do his best, and show Alec that he could be useful. Meanwhile, Alec had sincerely dropped the boy in the middle of nowhere to lose him for an hour. It took that much time to himself to gather his wits about him once again.

So much had happened. Sebrahn. _My_ _Sebrahn._

Within that time, Alec had once again composed himself, focusing all of his energies on one prophecy at a time. But he refused to allow Mika to be a casualty of his secrets.

“Mika,” Alec started, bringing him closer and sitting down on the stairs of Illior’s Temple. “It is written all over your face that you are upset. Most likely with me. Or even in part with yourself. But that dark cloud is going to obscure your judgment until you clear it away.”

Mika returned his wandering, angry glare back to Alec, and stood firm with arms crossed. His red face was a dead give away to his emotions, but Alec knew this wasn’t a good time to talk to him about hiding his feelings away.

“One day you’ll be a full grown adventurer like me,” Alec said, slinking like a cat into a comfortable sitting position. “When that time comes, you’ll have to be accustomed to facing hard truths in dire times. And before you tell me that you’ve already been through dire times… I know that. But you’re still so young, Mika. And it’s unfair that you have already learned some of these lessons that need to be taught.”

Mika joined Alec on the ground, gradually becoming enthralled in Alec’s natural storytelling. “But listen,” Alec continued, taking Mika’s jaw in his hand and staring directly into his eyes. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you might have already learned, but may have forgotten. Sometimes your worst fears come true. What do you do then?”

Alec pulled away, and Mika scrunched up his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted sadly.

“You’re right,” Alec smirked. “You’re not going to know until it happens to you.”

They sat together in silence for several seconds. They seemed to stretch on forever when Alec said, “I did lose you on purpose just now. Your worst fear was correct.”

Mika blinked hard, but took several deep breaths. He still maintained his angry silence, but it felt to Alec like he was getting through.

“It’s because I felt like I couldn’t let myself cry in front of you.”

Mika’s face shot up in surprise. “You what?” Never in all his life did Mika imagine he’d hear Alec say anything like that!

Alec smiled deeply, his cheeks dimpling. “I learned this morning that I was going to see somebody in a short while. A loved one… whom I thought I would never, ever see again. And those emotions were hard to deal with. So I tamped them down and bottled them up instead so I could do my work without them bothering me. Which, at the time, was the right decision.”

“But Mika,” Alec checked to make sure the teen was still listening. “I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and it needed to come out. I listened to what my mind and my body was saying, and I went away somewhere private to experience those emotions. And the reason I didn’t want you to see is because I don’t want to explain why I was crying to you.”

Mika let his eyes drop as he thought this new information over. “I want to know more about what you’re telling me, but… I don’t want you to have to have those feelings again. I don’t want to be a reason to make you cry. So I won’t ask. But, if you feel like you can tell me one day, I would listen to what you have to say.”

Alec nearly started crying again, but he tucked the emotion away and patted Mika on the head. “You, Mika, are something else. So, I apologize if it looked like I was abandoning you. I really did want you to learn a lesson as well as have fun. But I guess it didn’t turn out that way for you…”

“No, Master Alec,” Mika interjected, shaking his head back and forth with all his might. “I learned something very important. Thank you!”

Alec had to inhale deeply in order for his brain to shift gears again, but after a moment, he stood and scanned the Temple of Illior. “Don’t thank me yet, sprig,” Alec mumbled. “Let’s go talk to Madame Old Lady, see what we can find.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> As I am far from a professional writer, I have no real time table for producing these chapters. It's mostly just been as inspiration strikes. Though, the more comments I receive and the more people are taking notice of the story, I'll obviously be motivated to write chapters faster!
> 
> Like always, comments, questions, and concerns are invited!


	5. Chapter 4: A Fight At Wheel Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving/Colonialism Awareness Day
> 
> Of course, comments are always welcome, I love to hear what everyone thinks!

**Chapter 4 A Fight at Wheel Street**

Runcer the Younger, as he was well known among his circles, answered the door to Master Thero, greeting the wizard with his most magnificent of bows. Runcer’s pristine execution in showing Thero to the audience chamber astounded him. The young man treated Thero as if he were blind, but not dumbly blind, giving him verbal directions with succinct and easy to understand instructions.

“Thank you, Runcer,” said Thero, his mood having improved in no small part due to the walk to Seregil and Alec’s Wheel Street abode. “I don’t wish to take you from your tasks. I will find my way there.”

“I trust you will, ser,” Runcer stated in his low guttural voice that was seldom heard, accompanied by his famous bow that was often seen. “Have you been well, ser Runcer?” Thero asked before the butler could straighten from his hips. Thero did not need eyesight to sense the man reeling from an out of the blue question in a conversation he had assumed was over. Caught off guard, Runcer answered honestly and on the spot.

"Well, no, Master Thero.” He paused, confused at his own bluntness. Before he knew what was happening, the truth came spilling out of him. “It is the anniversary of my grandfather Runcer’s death this week. I’m not superstitious, but I can feel him heavy in the air. He lived in this mansion longer than I’ve been alive. I don’t think the house truly accepts me yet.” Runcer ceased his babbling and jolted back to attention. “Not that I expect anybody to relate.”

Thero adjusted his robe at the waist, then bent elegantly in a stately bow that so impressed Runcer he whistled in approval. “You have things to say, Master Runcer,” Thero smiled, continuing on his way into the hall. “You should say them.” Even without his wizard eye, Thero could hear the ringing of steel with his sensitive ears. But he did not hasten in alarm, for he could also smell the stinging sweat in the air, as well as hear the laughter at each misstep. Obviously a sparring match had broken out, as should be expected from gathering at Seregil’s Wheel Street home.

The large estate was actually modest compared to more extravagant nobles, though that was only a well crafted rouse to make people believe that Seregil was only just a fop who struck it lucky in the mercantile business. This character of Seregil’s owned a privateering ship that employed an experienced captain, Rahl, and the loyal crew that Rahl had strung together. Reaping in profits left and right, Seregil made sure to spend just as much as he earned, to keep suspicion on him. Seregil had become so infamous at the gambling tables that most casual players avoided him like a leper. Though that isn’t to say he hadn’t had nights of bad luck where serious money was wagered and lost.

In spite of all that, money was still not an issue. With the amount of carefully contrived cash flows weaving throughout Rhiminee and beyond the ocean into Auranen that Seregil had constructed, the stashes of loose gold and jewels in key hiding areas across the continent, the inherited wealth of his state, his fine breed of horses on the island of Korous, and a prospering Aurenfaie refugee estate set up there at Mirrormoon. As well as with his noble ties to the throne and public connections with the Oreska House, Seregil was an upstanding citizen in defense of Skala.

“And all of that could come tumbling down like a house of cards,” Thero scoffed out loud to himself. He needed to hear the words in order to convince his mind they were real. Whatever happens in Ivywell, it will not be good. Every lie eventually gets uncovered, and Thero knew that Seregil never considers such things when facing important decisions. It was simply how he operated as a person.

Steel struck lacquered wood with a staccato of dull thuds, until it settled by itself. Nyal was on his knees, hands in the air. He was panting heavily, but it was through a broad smile. Seregil had the same expression, only he breathed through his nose to show off that infuriating smile he’s perfected. “Seregil,” Nyal breathed, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “There is no swordsman in Skala who is your better.”

“On the contrary,” Seregil countered, sheathing his sword and stretching. He pointed towards Beka. “I think Commander here is right. If you had just vocalized at the critical timing, you would have had me.”

“Yeah, Nyal,” Beka jeered, definitely enjoying the spectacle. “You need to vocalize. I’ve told you that time and time again. Vocalize.”

“I got it!” Nyal bellowed, vaulting back to his feet and retrieving his blade. He kicked around the room until he found a jug of water near the staircase and poured himself a drink. “And I’ll be louder in bed too.” Both Beka and Seregil groaned in unison; Beka brushing her fingers up through her hair, and Seregil slouching with a grunt against Beka’s chair.

“You’ve gone and spoiled it,” Beka cried, decimated.

“You’ve spoiled the game, Nyal,” Seregil echoed with a whine.

Nyal shook his head and scoffed from the very back of his throat. “It’s a stupid game!” he shouted at them. “A stupid game with stupid rules! We’re… we’re not even drinking! This is water!”

“This is what happens any time he can’t beat me at something,” Beka whispered to Seregil. The jab was out of earshot for Nyal, but not for Thero.

“My, my,” Thero tutted, entering the room proper. “I know exactly what to do. When you have a fussy child, you put him to sleep for a nap.” The room burst into laughter, with Nyal chortling caustically at the rest of them. “But alas, one can dain think to best Seregil at swordplay,” Thero said, crossing his arms. “I’m mean, just look at what a good sword swallower he is.” Dead silence. All eyes were on Seregil. Nobody breathed. Thero pointed with his finger at the jug next to Nyal, and angled his face at Seregil. With his mustache hairs twitching in a smile, he said: “Drink, Seregil.”

Again the room erupted into guffaws, and everybody laughed joyously together. After some real wine from Runcer, and a rousing toast, Thero cleared his throat. “I think we’ve beaten around the bush enough, yes?” He set down his half drunk wineglass and took a stabilizing breath. “I have word from Mika that he and Alec will be arriving here soon, and that they have news for us. Nyal, you have been brought up to speed on everything?”

“I believe so,” Nyal answered, his stoic expression back in place as soon as he realized the grave change in Thero’s tone. “Seregil mentioned there is one final test before I can become a Watcher.”

“Indeed,” Thero confirmed. “Though not here. I prefer in a room upstairs that isn’t often used. And one that I can seal with magic.”

Seregil shrugged, adjusting his sweaty tunic. “My home is your home, Thero. Go find your room at once, and we’ll join you once we’ve cleaned up.” After a change of clothes, Beka, Nyal, and Seregil did as promised. They entered Thero’s selected room together and shut the door. The magic seal already prepared by the wizard flared to life for a moment before vanishing again, concealed.

Now that the room was properly sealed to Thero’s liking, he directed Nyal to kneel on the carpet at the center of the room. From his sleeve, Thero produced a gleaming silver dagger with an ivory handle engraved intricately in such fine detail Nyal could not inspect it all from this distance. Its straight, clean blade was probably one of the most menacing weapons brought before Nyal, and that was before Thero invoked the knife to spin.

It turned in a steady clockwise rotation, with such speed that each swing in front of Nyal’s eyes caused the blade to sing in the air. Sometimes, when his heartbeat too heavily, he was afraid he would involuntarily lean into the knife. Propelled by Thero’s magic, being struck by the spinning blade would be lethal. “If you lie… you will not survive this test,” Thero said slowly, confirming Nyal’s deductions. Beka and Seregil looked on, not too concerned. The ‘knife test’ as Seregil liked to refer to it, was a truth seeking spell. The knife is enchanted to instantly kill anyone who willingly lies to its owner. However, each member of the Watchers, both now and under Nysander, had to go through this rigorous initiation.

Thero began. “Nyal í Nhekai Beritis of Skala,” he chanted, holding his outstretched hand before the knife’s incessant buzzing. “A Watcher must observe carefully, report truthfully, and keep the secrets that must be kept. Do you swear by your heart and eyes and by the Four to do these things?” No reply came. And none came for several more moments still. Seregil squinted his eyes and became more tense, while the smile on Beka’s face slowly melted. However, the question had been asked, and now the ritual demanded an answer. Usually… it didn’t take a person this long to answer.

“I…” Nyal started, but he flinched when the knife nicked closer to him. “I cannot make that oath.” The blade halted with impossible speed, its glimmering silver tip quivering with excitement just at the point between Nyal’s eyes. Thero reacted with incredible speed himself, and snatched the ornate dagger out of the air with an angry grunt.

“My love!” Beka cried out at last, going to her husband, who was now breathless on the floor. “What’s wrong? Why did you say that?”

Nyal steadied himself enough to sit up. He held his head in palm, resting his elbow on his knee, looking dazed. “That oath…” he mumbled. “I… I’ve broken similar ones before. I’m sorry, but I can’t in good conscience swear my allegiance to the Watchers, to… to Skala! When I’ve left a carrion feast of dead oaths in my wake. If I had said the words you wanted me to say… the dagger would have killed me.”

“It was supposed to kill you if you said anything other than the affirmative,” Thero grunted, and the others noticed then that he had still been struggling with the knife. Its white ivory had been painted red with the wizard’s blood, the silver slicing into Thero’s left palm like deli meat. “It’s a powerful, ancient spell, designed to leave no trace of Watcher knowledge unaccounted for,” Thero said through hurried breaths. “But I… yes, I have it subdued now.”

Thero showed all in company the bloody knife, and the wound in his hand before magicking the weapon away. “Master Thero,” Nyal called out in astonishment. “Please, my sincerest apologies! I had no idea the stakes - ”

“No, no,” Thero said, trying to smile away the pain as he worked a pleasant healing magic into his left hand. “I’m sure everyone present would have been surprised had I not known the spell as well as I did. I must say, Nyal, you’re the first person who has ever refused to become a Watcher while I am its leader. This is… this is something entirely unique for me.” Thero stood and all but ran from the room. He only had enough time to yell out, “I’m going to the kitchen to clean myself up!”

Seregil made a show of inspecting the blood on his carpet, but he was really listening very intently to Beka and Nyal.

“I just don’t understand,” Beka was saying. She was much more composed now, looking intently. It appeared she was asking all the right questions, because Nyal looked like an animal pinned to the corner.

“It’s not something you can understand,” said Nyal, reservedly. He was crestfallen and shocked by the events transpiring around him. Seregil made sure that the two of them were speaking softly to each other out of compassion and not malice, then made for the staircase. There in the foyer, being greeted by Runcer as Seregil turned the corner, were Alec and Mika. The pep in Seregil’s step became rejuvenated, and he practically flew down the stairs.

“Please excuse our lateness,” Alec requested with a gallant bow. Seregil smiled, noticing that Alec had changed clothes at some point, just as he did himself. And on top of that, they happened to be wearing complementary colors, as if it were planned by them in advance. Alec greeted Seregil and Thero with eye contact before introducing Mika to the conversation with a pat on the boy’s back. “We had a very productive day, Mika and I. I’m willing to bet all the gold I have on me that we had a more productive day than you, tali.” The sly waggle in Alec’s eyebrows elicited a sarcastic harumph from Seregil, who crossed his arms in defeat, but couldn’t keep the smile from creasing his lips.

“Wager denied,” stated Seregil, using the momentum of the quip to carry them on. “I’d never take a fool’s bet. I’m willing to make a counter wager that you don’t even have any gold on you.” Alec winced, pulling his money pouch from his side. With agile fingers, he made a coin appear between his thumb and forefinger. A silver coin. “Spent all my gold on Temple tithes,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I’m guessing that means you went to several Temples,” Thero spoke up, his voice taut with impatience.

“Nearly all of them, Master,” Mika groaned, flopping on the couch. His teacher joined him, having been able to staunch the bleeding and bandage the wound on his hand with fresh cloth provided by Runcer. Thero embraced the boy reflexively as he tumbled into Thero’s lap, but obviously favored his hand. “I’m exhausted. And I thought walking all those flights of stairs at the Oreska House was tiring.”

Thero grinned past his beard. “Alec, you’re a miracle worker. I’ve never seen Mika quite this, well… docile.”

“Alec has a way with animals,” Beka chimed in, she and Nyal descending the foyer staircase to join the party. To this, Mika groaned again, only louder and more boisterously. He rolled away from Thero, nonetheless a thin-skinned adolescent, and buried his face into a pillow. The others allowed him to pretend like he was sleeping and continued their conversation.

“Beka, it’s been forever!” Alec nearly shouted, and took off in a spirited jaunt to meet her halfway. At a key point, just when Alec’s step touched ground within sabre-distance, Beka whirled on him, sword drawn in a lightning quick slice. She swung at Alec with what to Seregil looked like an obscene amount of force for just a prank, but Alec was already dodging the stroke. Drawing a knife from somewhere out of his sleeve, Alec rounded on Beka, catching her neck with his off hand before pricking the soft palate beneath her jaw with the point of his blade.

Beka smiled through clenched teeth and dropped her sword in a loud clatter. She stood still, and cursed under her breath. “Nobody in my regiment knows moves like that.”

“You’re just getting rusty,” Alec hissed into her ear.

“And you’re just getting cocky.” The new voice snapped the two of them out of their glaring match. Alec chanced a look at Nyal who confirmed with a nod that it was him who had spoken. Once he had Alec’s attention, he not so subtly gestured towards his own groin. Alec mimicked the movement with his eyes, looking down at his. There, a hidden knife of Beka’s was nestled sweetly into the fold of Alec’s thigh, dangerously close to a pouch of valuable jewels. Alec withdrew and released a tense breath, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Please forgive me, Commander. Old habits die hard, yes?”

“Habits die harder than soldiers,” Beka agreed, and they came in together again, only this time for a warm hug. They took a moment to breath in the scent of each other, bringing back flashes of old memories, before gradually parting.

Getting ever more annoyed at these concurrent interruptions, Thero cleared his throat with intentional volume. Everybody in the room turned to face him expectantly, some even rolling their eyes, safe in their assumption that Thero wouldn’t be bothered. “I will begin, as by the sounds of things, Alec and Mika had broader strokes of luck than we did today.” Thero paced in front of the now raging parlor fireplace and playing absently with his beard, looking entirely like some scheming sorcerer. “Nyal, if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep some key details vague due to your presence. However I feel sooner or later you’re just going to learn these things anyway… there’s only a certain level of trust I can allow you now.”

Alec furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I have refused to become a Watcher,” Nyal explained sadly. “I understand that normally this would call for my death -”

“Death!” Thero spat, and the fire erupted behind him. Embers popped and sparked, flying far into the room and scorching the carpets. The room quickly fell silent, though Thero looked almost just as shocked as everybody else. A few short breaths later, and still nobody dared speak. _They’re waiting for me_ , Thero shrieked in his head. _They daren’t speak because they are afraid of me_.

“Death,” he began again, but with much more aplomb. “It is our enemy. I will not send more valiant allies into the clutches of our foe because of rules set down by…” They’re only listening because they’re afraid of me. “By intelligent people who did not come to live in our times. These are our times. And in every decision I make, I make on the side of life.”

“Alec,” Thero called, sitting back down on the couch. He pinched his nose between his brow and sniffed. “Please, tell us what you and Mika discovered today.” He leaned back with a hushed sigh, and a quiver of movement rustled in his periphery. Mika cowered in the corner of the couch, staring at the carpet. Specifically at a smoking, scorched patch of blackened fur. His face showed no expression, but through Thero’s eyes, he could see the fear radiating off of the boy. _In everything I do_ , Thero thought to himself. _In everything he sees, Mika learns a lesson. My sweet son, what lessons am I teaching you now?_

Alec took a long drink of water from the side table. He took in the room at a glance and knew exactly what needed to be done. “Mika,” he snapped, and the boy blinked up at him from across the room. Alec pointed with his glass at the still glowing carpet. “You just looking at that isn’t solving anything,” Alec said snidely.

Light came back to Mika’s eyes, and he held out his hand. Without even intoning a spell, he put out all renegade embers, and even cleared away the smoke and ash. “I think there might be more you can do for our expensive rug,” Alec hinted, handing Mika a glass of his own. “Think you can?”

Mika sneered haughtily, taking the water and drinking a sip of it. “It’s already done,” he quipped. Alec looked between his feet, and - sure enough - the carpet looked better than it had when he and Seregil had bought it.

Thero felt himself becoming emotional again, so he settled himself back into the welcoming comfort of the couch. _Thank the Four_ , he prayed. _Thank you for the blessing that is Alec_.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Alec asked Mika, inviting him to speak.

“We figured out a huge portion of the riddle right at the first temple!” Mika bragged. “We saw Madame Viophe at the Temple Precinct. Her room was packed with get-well gifts!”

“And is she doing well?” Seregil asked cordially.

“About as well as to be expected,” Alec sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He glowered with a particularly dark stare into nothing, and Seregil surmised that his talimenios was already deep in thought, desperately trying to work out a plan to help those seven prophets break out of their stupor.

“But the best part is,” Mika continued excitedly, “we figured out the riddle right then and there! At the very first Temple!”

“You did?” Thero gasped, not entirely believing his student. It was almost too good to be true.

“It’s true, Thero,” Alec said, confirming for the wizard. “Mika and I visited all of the other prophets just to be sure, but by the time we had seen just three of them, we had already uncovered the true mystery.”

“And what would that be?” Nyal asked. He and Beka were now fully invested. Alec instinctively shot a hesitant look towards Thero, but his friend simply stared on, unblinking. Seregil saw Alec’s dilemma and gave him the nod of approval they had been waiting for. Alec seemed to relax a bit, and he called for wine, cheese, and bread to brought to the guests.

“There’s a huge problem with written prophecies,” Alec started, drawing his words in a sarcastic lilt. He took a sip from his cup and set it aside. “And that is: Somebody has to write them.”

“Sakor’s Flame!” Beka chortled. “Will you listen to him? He’s hamming it up like he’s putting on a play. Just get on with it, already” She kicked back in her seat and rested her hands behind her head, looking pleased with herself. “Seregil, I blame you for this.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow and pointed to himself, confused. He put on a shocked face for his audience, but Alec was already speaking again.

“Beka,” he called with enthusiasm. “Thank you for volunteering. Write down what I’m about to say - there’s charcoal and paper on that stand there. And Beka… you can write, can you?” Beka smudged her fingertips absently with the charcoal before mocking Alec, miming him with a buffoon's expression and her tongue hanging out. Alec cleared his throat to signal that he was about to begin his demonstration.

“Beka and Nyal,” he began dictating. He paused, and pointed at Nyal until everyone looked. “Nyal… are the loveliest couple in the world.”

“Why thank you, Alec,” Beka said snidely, and Nyal laughed in response.

“Mm-hmm,” Alec groaned. “Did you write that down?” Beka nodded. “Read it back to me, please.”

“Beka and Nyal are the loveliest couple in the world.”

Mika laughed heartily at this, clutching his gut as he doubled over onto himself. Alec also beamed with a triumphant grin, but everyone else in the room looked dumbfounded. Obviously they had missed a joke, but it seemed like only Alec and Mika knew the punchline. Alec sipped from his cup again and licked his lips. “Wrong.”

Beka scoffed loudly, crinkling the paper in her hands. “Wrong? Alec, I can write, I can read, and… What was wrong about that?”

Alec opened his hand and beckoned with a ‘gimme’ gesture. Beka obliged him, frustrated, and he pointed at each word she had scribbled there. “Beka and Nyal are the loveliest couple in the world,” he read aloud. “There’s a word missing here.”

You could hear the pin falling out of a haystack, the room was so quiet. Thero straightened, his mouth gaping open as the solution dawned on him. He quickly sank back into himself and sighed an exasperated sigh before whispering, “Nyal.”

Nyal picked his head up. Then his mouth also fell open like a fish. “My name,” Nyal stated with epiphany. “You said my name twice, but Beka only wrote it down once.”

“Well, yes,” Beka said, becoming defensive. “But who would write that? You only repeated yourself for emphasis.”

Mika jumped to his feet with a yelp of joy. “Beka! You did it! You figured it out!” It was Beka’s turn to look like a fish out of water, and she did a splendid job of it.

Seregil took a long drink from his wine. The pieces had clicked in his head too, and it was maliciously simple. “So the real problem, the true mystery… is laziness.”

“Human error,” Alec corrected, not wanting Beka to get the wrong idea, as she was clearly still lost. “Gods are divine, people are not. Illior sent us a message, and we fucked it up. Plain and simple.” Seregil nodded his head, running through the prophecies in his head again.

“Oh!” Beka shouted, bolting to her feet. “Each prophecy has some word or words that were verbally repeated for emphasis by the prophets, but the temple clerks or whoever wrote the prophecies down omitted those operative words because they thought the prophet was just stammering or stumbling over themselves!”

Mika clapped his hands together with an energetic smile. “See, Beka, I told you you figured it out!”

“So did you find out those operative words?” Thero asked, a sense of anxious optimism bubbling up within him.

“We did,” Alec confirmed. “Each one. And if there is any doubt still in anybody’s heart, take it straight from the horse’s mouth.” Alec produced a roll of cheap parchment and passed it to Seregil. “This is the only prophecy that been written correctly.”

“And only because the prophet herself wrote it!” Mika chimed in. “Her name is Aurane.”

Seregil unfurled the scroll and read its trembling cursive for all to hear: “Five lands to be shepherded. Three lands become two become one. Five will watch and three will wait wait.” He gave the parchment to Thero, who examined it with his wizard’s eye. “So the key to that prophecy is the word ‘wait’? Finally we’re onto something! What were the other five?”

“Beka, if you would once more,” Alec asked, handing her another slip of paper from the stand. Beka took it without objection, charcoal at the ready. “These are the six words that make up the true riddle Illior has sent us: Eight, Stir, Grown, Alone, Illior, and Wait.”

Seregil repeated the words to himself several times, each in a different order than the last. After a few minutes, he clicked his tongue and sat down with a huff. “It doesn’t seem like six words are enough to go off of before we can solve Illior’s warning.”

“Perhaps the seventh prophecy is the key,” Thero suggested. “It is the most distinctive out of them. Once we understand that one, we can parse the truth out of the rest; like a magnifying glass.”

“Comforting to know the seventh prophecy is the easiest to interpret,” Seregil said, begrudgingly.

At first, Seregil assumed that the rest of the room was also deep in thought. However, after shuffling around some ideas in his head, he turned to find the others gazing expectantly at him (except for Thero, obviously). “What? Did I miss something?”

“Seregil,” Alec cooed. “Dear. Please explain the seventh prophecy for those among us who are unfortunately more slow-witted than you. And I include myself within that number.”

Disbelieving what he was hearing, Seregil met each of his guests in the eye one by one until each was forced to concede their befuddlement. Even Thero remained silent, despite knowing full well Seregil was waiting for objections. With a huff, Seregil slapped his drink to the table, spilling the vintage, expensive wine. Mika alone watched the wine stain that very same carpet he just magicked clean. The others were instinctively following Seregil with their eyes as he crossed the room and out the door. He strode like a man with a purpose until he burst into the gallery. Even though he knew every inch of his own home, it still took him a minute to rifle through all of his scrolls. At last he found the exact thing he was looking for, pinned onto the wall above a work desk.

Triumphantly returning, parchment wrinkling noisily in the breeze, Seregil rushed back into the spotlight. All conversation and speculation ceased as Seregil presented his explanation. “Thank Illior it’s the only prophecy that literally points out what it wants you to know.” Seregil swung his arms across the table to delicately lay out what was blatantly a map of the world. Regardless of his caution, an ink well toppled to the floor; though Mika was quick enough this time to bespell its clean getaway. He levitated it to his hand, cupping it gently to prevent any future spills.

Seregil stabbed his finger onto the map without hesitation. “The Eater of Death stretches his finger into the sea,” he repeated. “Taken literally, the only significant mass that goes out into a sea -”

“A peninsula,” Thero finished, speaking almost to himself. Seregil lifted his bright eyes up to his friend and smiled broadly.

“Plenimar,” he spat, pounding the table. He couldn’t stand still any longer, so Seregil began to pace, almost aggressively. “What do we know about Plenimar? Worshipers of The One, necromancers, warmongers. But ever since we’ve won the war, it’s like they’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”

“They pay their yearly Tribute,” Beka pointed out, and Seregil honed in on her.

“Yes, everybody always brings that up,” he began, becoming visibly excited. “But even _that’s_ suspicious. It’s been how long, and they haven’t even attempted to bargain with us to get their sanctions altered?”

“They pay their yearly Tribute,” Nyal stated. “Every year. On time. In gold bars.”

“In gold bars,” Seregil repeated under his breath, retreating back into his mind.

“Maybe not every year,” Nyal continued, “but for the three consecutive years the Queen’s horse was stationed at Plenimar’s border, we inspected every cart that came to our borders. Always gold, never a problem.”

“What is going on in that country,” Beka wondered out loud, “that they can afford to give out that Tribute in gold every year? You’d think after a while they’d want to Tribute other things of value, like their exotic seafood resources, or their salt and masonry deposits.”

“Gold,” Nyal said again, leaning against the fireplace. “Every year.”

“Plenimar is a wealthy country, and I’m certain they have gold to spare,” Alec mused. “And yet… even without exact numbers, a Tribute laid out as a product of Queen Phoria’s time in power is going to be taxing. They’d want some of that gold to spend on food and other goods they can’t produce themselves. Their currency holds a lot of weight on the scale... but you can’t eat money.”

“A war ravaged Plenimar sitting quiet and tranquil,” Seregil mumbled. “Docile.” Seregil’s brow furrowed together, and his face grew dark and angry.

“What news has there been from Plenimar recently?” Thero asked. After there was no reply from anybody, he sighed and snapped his fingers. A new jug of crisp apple wine appear, chilled literally by mountain snow. He poured himself another draught and passed the decanter, skipping over doe-eyed Mika. “There have been no interesting reports coming out of their country?” Thero asked again.

“To be honest,” Seregil chimed in, humming around his crystal glass of apple wine, “you’re usually the one who comes to us with news. Alec and I keep our ears to the ground, but Rhiminee is still so high off its victory, nobody is paying attention to how Plenimar licks its wounds.”

“But _is it_ licking its wounds,” Beka growled. Suddenly she stood from her chair, and Mika yelped softly in surprise. “They’ve been playing us. Even Klia said that Plenimar couldn’t keep acting stable for longer than a few years, so after awhile we started to loosen restrictions, cut back on boots on foreign soil, occupied fewer of their cities.”

“Kind of a benign negligence kind of deal?” Alec asked. “I suppose we keep at least a few troops garrisoned in Plenimar still.”

“Certainly,” Nyal returned with at once. “But you all know how these things go. The most corrupt weasel their way into positions of power specifically because they want to be stationed at Plenimar. They make a profit on letting some of the more… what was that word, Alec? Benign crimes slip by.”

“There’s always going to be human error,” Seregil pointed out, “just as there is always divine intervention. Illior says ‘Look at Plenimar,’ and when we do, we spot some shady shit happening. I say…” Seregil straightened up and crossed his arms across his chest. “Let’s take a closer look at Plenimar.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Nyal said, stepping into the center of the room. “I have a conciliatory suggestion. I may have failed to uphold the burden of Watcher, but I do know of somebody in the city who you may want to consider in my stead.”

“Who is this person you are promoting?” Thero asked with caution. Nyal smiled and put his hands on his hips, chuckling. “Don’t be so ready to condemn. She is highly qualified, and everybody here already knows who she is.”

Alec jumped a little as Seregil’s arm slid across his shoulders, and the man nuzzled into him. “We’ve been practicing people skills today, tali,” Seregil confessed in a stage whisper. “I think this is him trying to be dramatic.”

“My large ears picked up that a certain doctor is in town. Kordira. And who better to also provide a Plenimarin perspective to the Watchers than a Plenimarin.”

“Kordira is here in the city?” Seregil, Alec, and Beka all said in near unison.

“I was not going to mention it,” Nyal admitted, now looking thoroughly embarrassed. “It seemed odd to me that she would be here in Rhiminee. I wanted to get a sense of what her motives were before letting anyone else know.”

“How did you find her?” Thero asked. Nyal shook his head.

“Those are the odd circumstances I mentioned before. She found me.”

“Very interesting timing for her to go globetrotting,” Thero said, grunting as he stood to his feet. He was sitting far too much for a man of his years, and mention of Kordira was - as Nyal put it perfectly - odd.

“Indeed,” Seregil agreed. “That alone is enough cause to poke our noses into her business. And on top of everything else, I truly don’t hate the idea of Kordira being a Watcher. Her knowledge of medical and scientific subjects is unprecedented. And she’s proven before that she can keep her head about her in a crisis.”

“And she knows how to keep secrets,” Nyal added. “That much I can tell at a glance.”

“She’s qualified,” Beka stated curtly, and noticeably did not offer any further comment.

“I think tomorrow’s objective has been identified,” Thero said with some finality.

“Yeah,” Alec sang, tongue in his cheek. “ _Tomorrow_. Sure.” He and Seregil shared an eye roll together.

As they all parted ways, some - like Mika - went to get some well deserved rest. And some - like Thero - arrived wearily home to toss in his bed at night and keep his wife awake.

Alec and Seregil planned on being busy. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as they wanted this time around.

This time, there was a fight at Wheel Street.

“You should have seen him today,” Alec was saying as he undressed. His black, nightrunner outfit already positioned for him to put on. “He learns so quickly, he almost gets you… caught up in it.”

“You talk about Mika the same exact way Thero does,” Seregil said, poking fun. He was already half dressed, but kept shirtless and watched his talimenios go through his motions. “Like a proud father talks about a celebrated son.”

“You’d talk the same way if you spent any real time with him.” Seregil laughed, taking Alec into his arms from behind him. They both looked into their gilded bedroom mirror and lavish surroundings and felt fake. Things felt more natural and less tense at the Stag and Otter Inn. “He’s a great kid,” Seregil said after a moment. “A kid. I was a bright kid once, and look how I turned out to be.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Alec chided, his voicing growing hard.

“Like what, looking down on him for being young and immature? That’s what being a kid is all about, learning things the hard way.”

“No, those jokes where you put yourself down,” Alec grumbled, pulling away. “Mika is an amazing person, and so are you. Stop saying that you aren’t. Say it enough times…”

Seregil allowed the silence between them to stiffen. “I don’t know what you want from me, Alec.”

“So you’ve finally noticed I want something from you.”

“How can I not, you’re thorns and barbs!”

“And you’re paranoid! Ever since that nightmare woke you up this morning, you’ve been incessantly upset! We can’t use paranoid, we can’t _use upset_! It’s getting in the way!”

“I’m _getting in the way_?” Seregil shot back immediately.

“That isn’t what I said! Don’t you dare try to change the meaning of my words!”

“Oh it’s fine, Alec,” Seregil started, really becoming angry now. “Everybody made it abundantly clear to me how they feel about my opinions. Shot down this morning by every arrow in the gods damn quiver.”

“Is that was this is about?” Alec yelled. “You got your Baron-honor bruised because a room of full of people didn’t drop to their knees and suck your dick?!”

“Alec, what the _fuck_ are you going on about?”

“What the fuck are _you_ going on about!”

Seregil and Alec could both feel their hearts beating in their chests, loud and drumming in their ears. It was deafening, all that blood… Through deep breathes, Seregil attempted one more time to explain himself. “I’m talking about you... sending Elani… into the Hazadrielfaie’s lands… and her never coming back -”

“Of _me_ never coming back,” Alec corrected.

“Of _her_ , and _you_ , and every _fucking_ person who goes into those woods!”

Alec stared in shock at his husband. His wide, blue eyes trembled in the smoldering fire light, shimmering wet and red. Seregil tried to collect himself, but the emotions were spilling out so forcefully now. Seeing Alec cry, shedding tears quietly down his flushed cheeks, immediately made him begin to cry himself.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Alec hiccuped, wiping his nose. “I’m not some treasure of yours that is going to break if you let it out of your sight. I don’t want you handling me with gloves on all the time! And now this dream of yours where I get my eyes gouged out… It’s gotten you raving mad. I don’t recognize you when you’re like this! You’re so afraid of losing me, Seregil, that you’re _losing me_!”

“How can I not be afraid!” Seregil screamed at the top of his lungs. “When you hike up your skirt and take off running with nothing but the fucking _possibility_ of you seeing _Sebrahn_!!”

This silence, now.

Here. This quiet. This silence.

The one that enveloped them in this moment was something terrifyingly silent that neither man had ever experienced before. Their hearts stopped beating in their rib cages at the exact same moment. The wind died down to nothing. The fire went out, and the smoke didn’t even sizzle. This moment here, Seregil realized, was the moment his life changed forever.

“Alec,” he began, but Alec was already opening the bedroom door. “Alec, wait. Please. Can I please just apologize before you - Alec! _Alec_!”

Alec sprinted down the hallway, dissolving into darkness. And then he was gone.


	6. Chapter 5: The Road to Ivywell

**Chapter 5**  
**The Road to Ivywell**

It was dark and snowy in Mycena. Seregil couldn’t see a handspan in front of his face, and the wind shrieked into his ears with every icy blast. His body was numb and frost bitten. He didn’t even shiver any more.

Alec was in danger, and he didn’t even know it yet. Seregil trudged through the snow, but the wind was actively fighting against him, and each step he took sank him deeper into the ever piling snow banks. But he had to get to Alec! Alec needed him! Without Seregil’s help, Alec would… he would….

“Alec!” Seregil shouted in excitement, as he caught sight of his love. But the winter gales caught his voice and swept it away into the shadows, soundless. Still, he could see Alec’s cloak in the distance, not far off. He was catching up!

Seregil desperately wanted to continue screaming Alec’s name, but every time he opened his mouth it was instantly filled with snow. Snow that tasted of sand, and ground his tongue and teeth with dirt and glass. He gave up on shouting, and instead put all of his effort into charging forward towards his talimenious.

Just when Alec was within arms reach, Seregil’s hand hit hard into a vertical iron rod. He recoiled only for a moment to inspect the sudden barrier, and found that Alec had gotten himself caged like some sort of tamed circus animal. Alec still had his back to Seregil, and was intently clawing at his face.

Seregil watched with horror as a moist squelching noise cut through the dampening snow. Red blossomed on the cage floor, splattering like spilt syrup, and Alec halted, poised with his right hand over the right side of his face. There was a pop. Then a snap.

A pause.

Seregil felt himself beginning to wail, but he couldn’t hear whatever it was he was trying to say. He had no idea what words his mouth wanted to shout, all that knew was that he must scream - he simply must! Alec needed to hear his voice, it was the only way he would stop! If Seregil could only speak, Alec would stop, he would stop, he would just stop!

Alec took his right hand away, then lifted his left to his shrouded face, scratching once more. Blood.

A second pop. A second snap.

At last Alec turned. His eye sockets were empty, black holes. The lids of flesh that once cradled his eyeballs hung loose and shriveled over his cheeks. It was as if Alec’s face was sliding off his skull.

“Such a good, obedient boy,” came a luxurious voice that was all too familiar. Alec approached the bars of his cage, and Seregil instinctively took a step back. He collided with something solid, but couldn’t tear away from his love, who walked calmly closer into the light. In shock and horror and utter disgust, Seregil followed Alec’s outstretched hand as it slipped through the bars in a gentle fist.

“He always does exactly what I need him to do,” the voice commended from behind Seregil. It was like a whisper being injected into his eardrum. When the voice spoke, it was the only thing Seregil heard.

An arm emerged, stretching past Seregil’s periphery. Its skin was warm and golden, and the snow that touched it melted on contact, shimmering across the stranger’s bare skin like diamonds. It opened the palm of its hand, and Alec wordlessly dropped the contents of his own hand into those glowing fingers. Seregil watched, saw Alec’s eyes tumble like gaming stones through the air into the waiting palm.

Those eyes in the hand, blue as glacial ice, stared at Seregil. Stared into Seregil. Stared through Seregil.

“Why can’t you…” the voice began again, and the hand clenched like a vice, “be more like Alec?”

Seregil was a helpless captive. He stood, turned to stone, taking in every detail as Alec’s eyes were crushed. They oozed red, white, and blue before boiling into burnt, brown ashes, scattering into the wind and disappearing into wailing snow.

Seregil’s eyes shot open from his nightmare, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He cast his eyes around the room, confirming he was awake in the secret room at the Stag and Otter Inn. But he couldn’t lift himself out of bed.

He couldn’t move.

“There is no solace in the dawn,” the familiar voice whispered into Seregil’s ear. A golden hand reached. From out of his dream. It entered Seregil’s view from above his head, its fingers slick with blood and tissue. A sliver of Alec’s sapphire iris clung to the nightmare’s finger like an onion peel, jiggling with inertia. Staring intently at Seregil.

Gingerly, the hand rested itself onto Seregil’s sternum, and an inferno of pain erupted on his chest. His night shirt dissolved into smoke, and blood pooled around its fingers, straight from Seregil’s heart like spigot. And the worst part was, Seregil couldn’t even scream in agony, like he was allowed to in his dream. He laid there, silently enduring the pain as it combusted within him, his teeth feeling like they were cracking beneath the strength of his jaw.

“You’re every waking day,” Seriamaius stated with authority, removing his hand from Seregil, “will be one living nightmare…” There, emblazoned into his flesh, the impossibly-designed curse mark between Seregil’s nipples throbbed and wept with blood. Nysander’s careful magic, weaved with mastery and love, nullified. Erased. Seregil was branded anew.

“Until living is no longer what you desire.”

Seregil felt like he had been kicked in the diaphragm. All at once, his body was released from the spell, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed until there was no more breath in his lungs. He toppled from his bed frame, convulsed, and threw up last night’s dinner, or what was left of it. Seregil groaned, expecting to see worms or leeches breeding in his vomit like the fever dreams he had suffered before, but these worries - after a moment of panting - appeared to be unfounded.

After two cupfuls of water, the fog around Seregil’s mind began to lift. That was the first nightmare he had experienced since Alec, Mika, and Nyal - the three of them together with Thero’s blessing - left Rhiminee. That was now a week ago. Today, at noon, Queen Elani was to parade with her troops from the city gates on her way to treat with the Hazadrielfaie. The pomp and circumstance was something Klia had insisted upon.

Seregil trembled. He knew he needed to clean up the sick and the blood. But he just didn’t have the strength to attempt it. After a moment of silent introspection, Seregil let his face droop low and his shoulders sag. He laid prone once again on his mattress, feeling the blood from his chest still warm and sticky on the sheets.

Seregil laid there until the sun rose, and then continued laying there some more.

He was dressed and ready in time to meet with the Skalan royalty in the courtyard. All of his clothes, tools, and anything else important enough had been packed for days. Seregil had simply been waiting until the appointed time to leave. A week ago, those who knew him well would be worried at Seregil’s lax, inattentive attitude. But now, those who knew him well... knew to give him this space he was carving out for himself.

Alec had left in the dead of night, and apparently had gone straight to Thero, himself still restless and awake. Seregil learned later from Klia that they had spoken in private for less than an hour before Alec emerged from the hall to kiss Klia’s hand farewell.

Meanwhile, Seregil hadn’t chased after his talimenious. He understood that he was at fault for bringing up Alec’s homunculus son, Sebrahn.

Seregil, having had several days to think it over, realized that for Alec, Sebrahn never went away. He was always there, in the back of his mind, while Seregil was only too happy to forget about the Rekharo and what went into making it.

Most people who saw Sebrahn knew it for a monster. Something altogether frightening, with power no mere mortal could comprehend. Some wizards looked at Sebrahn and only saw a dragon made out of light. Just one more thing to add to the list of enviable wizard traits. Most normal-eyed people saw only the skinny, toddler-sized albino boy with silver hair and dead silver eyes.

And yet… Alec saw something entirely removed from that spectrum when he looked at Sebrahn. Seregil knew that Alec only ever saw the thing as his son. Even though it was a homunculus literally ripped from every facet of Alec’s body at the hands of necromancers and alchemists; a creature tortured out of Alec’s loins that had the power to both kill and bring people back from the dead.

Alec had only love for Sebrahn, Seregil saw that now. For years, to Seregil, talking about Sebrahn was like recalling a fanciful adventure for an audience of gaping spectators. But to Alec, it must have been a knife in his gut, every second of it.

That is the reason why Seregil only became worried when he learned that Alec hadn’t gone alone. When Thero approached Seregil with news that Alec had volunteered to scout the road to Mycena ahead of time, it seemed like a good and logical idea. But then Thero informed him that Alec had taken Mika as well, like it was some sort of camping trip. Seregil had half a mind to ride the nearest steed into the ground to catch up with him them.

Thero had patted Seregil on the shoulder with his hand, trying to pacify his friend. He said that Nyal had tailed the boys at his and Beka’s request, so that Alec and Mika would not be alone. Three heads being more resourceful than one.

“Nyal was insistent,” Beka told Seregil, mid-week after the fight. She had invited herself over to the Stag and Otter, even going so far as to spending a rainy night indoors playing Bakshi. She was a buoy for Seregil in a time where all he wanted to do was drown.

Seregil kept his thoughts to himself these days, but when Beka brought up Nyal, that old stirring of distrust rekindled something in Seregil’s soul. “He really wants to prove something to Thero, doesn’t he?”

“In a way,” Beka said, rolling her eyes. “But mostly he said he doesn’t trust Alec to be alone for so long with Mika.”

“What did he mean by that?” Seregil asked, shocked.

Beka shrugged at first, then shook her head. Finally she spoke up.

“We all know the toll Sebrahn took on Alec.” Seregil leaned back, feeling like he had been punched in the throat.

“He never talks about it, and that’s the thing,” Beka continued. “What those Plenimarans did to him. I mean, Sakor’s Flame, he died for Sebrahn!”

“I was there,” Seregil reminded her curtly.

Beka drummed her fingers on the table between them. She made a face, stretched her jaw, and squeaked her chair back a little. Hesitantly, she said, “I know. So Sebrahn was… formed... looking that age. Like a child. Run the clock a few years? Sebrahn would be a teenager right about now, wouldn’t he? Looks-wise. I mean, if he ages, which I don’t think he does. But what I’m really saying here, Seregil, is: Alec had a child. And then that child was taken from him. Now he’s spirited away Mika.”

Seregil looked at Beka when she said this, his stare hard and piercing into hers. Beka looked away first, instinctively recoiling.

“Nyal was only worried…” Beka finished with a sigh. “That Alec would be a bad influence on Mika.”

“I would think it’s the other way around,” Seregil mumbled, his words dripping with poison.

Rearing his new travel horse, Hershey, Seregil stopped just short of the gate. Hershey was a chocolate-dappled mare, with the sweetest disposition of any horse Seregil had ridden before. Therefore, it was only natural to name her after the Aurenfaie word for ‘chocolate’: Hershey.

Seregil acknowledged the shimmering company in their resplendent, orchestrated formations for the parade. Their polished armor of the soldiers glinted in the sun, and there were so many flags in the cascading wind that their flapping could be heard even above the roar of people who had gathered on the sloping road. All crammed together like the haul of a fishing boat, just for the chance of seeing their triumphant Queen Elani.

Turning Hershey away from the event that trudged along at a glacial pace to the incessant loop of tooting brass horns, Seregil brought his ride to a gallop and skimmed unimpeded through the vacant backstreets. After all, he had opted to stay out of the ceremony so that could come and go freely, as he pleased. Nobody had objected.

His travel clothes were plain, as anything more than some leathers, a cloak, and a sword would certainly attract cutpurses; and that was a distraction Seregil did not want to incur upon himself. Besides, parades happened all the time in Rhiminee - going off without a hitch - despite Seregil’s lack of involvement.

Seregil’s skills, he knew, were needed elsewhere.

Kordira watched from outside the Ring as the crowd began to part for the procession of Blue Coats. In a few minutes, the Queen of Skala would follow, and their adventure would be officially underway.

Trade between the capital and the island of Kouros was on the rise, providing competitive prices for goods that would have been embargoed if Plenimar was still in power. Not to mention that Kordira had never been to Skala before, and she thought the trip would be worthwhile.

The kinds of herbs and alternative medicine practices she had observed in her brief months in Rhiminee were incredibly informative. Some unique roots that grew at the edges of their forests were a potent laxative, and the minerals here were plentiful. The Market District was like a multicultural hub of economic activity, and - though Kordira didn’t like to admit it - she had grown accustomed to the constant motion of the big city.

Kordira couldn’t say she was surprised when Master Thero approached her earlier in the week. She had been meaning to see him anyway. Ever since the lad Nyal had scared her half to death one night by breaking into her tavern room to, what he called, ‘have a chat,’ Kordira was expecting more company to arrive.

The wizard was cordial and polite, like she remembered, but he had said some troubling things that had since kept Kordira up at night. “Well now, official envoy of Skala,” Kordira told herself, reining in her rented horse away from the city gate. “I’ve been given my orders, and so have you, Gregor.” She patted the neck of her steed with affection, and the horse nickered excitedly in response.

“That carriage must be around here somewhere,” she grumbled to herself, scanning the horizon as an entire squadron of the Queen’s Horse mobilized along the road. Their Commander, Beka, was still in the parade; however, it was deemed prudent to send the essential supplies and vanguard ahead of the Royal Procession to expedite the process.

The soldiers, thankfully, were all business. They accurately but brusquely gave her the directions she needed. Once she found the carriage that was appointed to her, she gave over Gregor to the young boy in stable garb and inspected the box that would be her home as they travelled.

The carriage was made out of Ash timber, and it had been polished black. Bright gold decoration ornately molded its edges, gleaming each time a ray of sunshine flittered across it. Kordira fell in love immediately. It was like something from out of a dream, where a princess gets whisked away for a night of unrestrained passion!

Taken by her accommodations so, Kordira swung herself inside with a spritely step, and sat down on the soft, crimson cushions with a contented sigh.

“It’s certainly been a while, Kordira.”

“Oh gods!” Kordira shouted, clutching at her palpitating heart. She looked about ready to dive out of the carriage, and Seregil chuckled politely. He held his hands up in surrender, disarming her with his winning smile. “Seregil, you’re a monster! That’s no way to reacquaint with somebody, scaring them half to death!”

“If it were that easy to kill you, I don’t think we would have chosen you for this mission.” Seregil briefly juggled some fruit from a concession hatch near their feet. He tossed them in the air for show, catching them in tempo without missing a beat. Kordira, though outwardly not impressed, relaxed at the display a little. However, she still clenched her jaw tightly.

“First that Nyal fellow, then Thero, and now you. Seregil if I’m to be one of your Watchers, you’re going to have to teach me how to stalk prey like you all obviously know how to do.”

“Ah,” Seregil sighed, chewing into some grapes from a partitioned vine. “Sneaking and backstabbing and putting ourselves out on the forefront of danger… those are things Nyal and I do. And just because Thero is good at popping up when you least expect him, doesn’t mean that’s a typical prerequisite. I have my skills…” Seregil tossed her a shiny, green apple.

Kordira caught it without breaking her stare, biting into the crisp skin, lost in her thoughts.

“Obviously,” Seregil finished with a smirk. “You have yours.” “I see,” Kordira replied, inspecting her bite mark on the apple. “And how am I to apply my skills on this trip?”

Seregil pursed his lips together, humming a melancholy tune as he orchestrated his response. He couldn’t bare to keep his mask up for much longer, and he had to let it slip for this one moment. Downtrodden, he slapped himself across the thigh.

“Well, whatever I can’t do, you’ll have to pick up the slack.”

Kordira’s poker face was impeccable, almost as good as Nyal’s. But after a moment, cracks began to form through the laughter-lines in Kordira’s wrinkles. “Simple enough. If I know you, Seregil, that means I’ll be doing a lot of sightseeing and treating soldiers for diarrhea, mostly. What, with Seregil on the case.”

“You holding me in such high esteem is truly an honor, Kordira,” Seregil responded with a flourish, bowing at his waist. “I’m sure there will be other events that will prevent you from getting too bored. Thero has briefed you appropriately, yes?”

Kordira nodded, adjusting her travel robes, smoothing out the fabric across her lap. “Master Thero has given me all of the pertinent information, at least all that I am expected to be privy to. Even spun a knife in front of me at the end of it all; it was actually quiet fun!”

So she didn’t even flinch at the knife test, Seregil thought to himself, a hard sneer creasing his lips. The first Plenimarin Watcher, and she acts like it’s just any other day.

“Am I to gather that you and I will be sharing this carriage on our way to Mycena?” Kordira asked Seregil, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It would be welcome, as I recall enjoying your company immensely the last time we crossed paths. And now that I am an official representative of Skala, it would probably be within my interests to become friends with the most popular, illustrious, and infamous Baron Seregil.”

“You certainly could do worse,” Seregil laughed. “And yes, you and I will be sharing this carriage. Not that we don’t trust you -”

“You’d rather just keep me close all the same, is that what you’re trying to say?” The knowing grin Kordira flashed Seregil made him raise his eyebrow theatrically.

“You are one smart doctor, Kordira. I do believe we made a fantastic decision.”

“Yes, well, before you start getting returns on your investment, a savvy business man like you understands that you must put in work before reaping the rewards.”

Seregil popped a few more grapes into his mouth, then spoke around them: “I have a feeling I’m about to hear a request.” He swallowed, and Kordira remained silent, steepling her fingers in front of her. She waited patiently as Seregil finished running his tongue along his teeth. “Alright, hit me with it. You’ve got to spend money to make money, right?”

“Astute,” Kordira commended. “I need an extra pair of hands. I was worried there wouldn’t be enough space for my trunk, but this carriage is huge. Will you help me bring it here?”

Seregil sighed a boisterous sigh, but gave Kordira a wink.

“Out on a limb here,” he groaned. “But the soldiers can’t do this menial task because you’re afraid they might break something valuable.”

“It has happened before, I’m afraid,” Kordira confirmed, scooting herself towards the open carriage door and setting her booted feet to the step there. “Glass, crystals, powders and herbs I’d rather not have jostled about.”

“I will help you,” Seregil grunted, jumping from the carriage after Kordira had skipped from the landing zone. “Only because I think it would be a wonderful exercise in strength, balance, and endurance.”

“What a positive outlook!”

“I do hope, my dear Kordira, that you haven’t run into much trouble while in the city.” Seregil’s compassionate - but flippant - words changed the gears in Kordira’s mind, and she stopped walking, allowing Seregil to overtake her.

“Back on the island of Kouros one never had to worry about how ‘Plenimarin’ one appeared,” Kordira began, putting on a brave face. “It’s an entirely different circumstance altogether being surrounded by people who are staunchly not Plenimarin. I will say, the animosity was not as prevalent as I had prepared myself to experience, but… those who proved determined to speak their minds were… much more creative than I had been giving them credit for.”

Seregil returned to Kordira’s side and massaged her shoulder with his hand. “My deepest apologies on behalf of those scoundrels. I assure you, they do not represent my country as a whole.”

“Oh I understand!” Kordira said, patting Seregil’s hand with her own. “I guess I’m just glad to be on the road again. Something a bit freeing about it.”

“A kindred spirit,” Seregil bellowed, this time clapping Kordira on the back like a compatriot. She took the friendly blow in stride, shoving Seregil away with a halfhearted push. “Only a single trunk, you say? Would you believe? Thero has at least three carts for himself and his own laboratory experiments for the road. A bloated affair, if you ask me. One single trunk sounds entirely more effective.”

Kordira hummed her agreement, once again walking side-by-side with her new secret agent spy friend. “Just another day in Skala, I suppose,” she stated, maybe with a little bit of sadness creeping in.

The first few days on the road were eventful, just by the very nature of being the start of a brand new adventure. Everybody was energetic and upbeat, each faction singing work and travel songs. Everything and everyone in tow, the Queen’s entourage consisted of nearly 3000 people. 2000 of which were infantry soldiers that were always a single day behind the Queen’s Honor Guard, which consisted of only 15 elite troopers. There were 500 of the best Queen’s Horse riders, led by Commander Beka and High Commander Klia.

Nearly all the rest were workers and laborers who travelled along with the column, smoothing out the trip for everybody with their various skills.

were also five wizards from the Oreska House. Thero, without question, was the leading spellcaster and was assigned to be the final authority on any magical decision. Essindi was tagging along with the Queen’s Horse, just as she had been assigned. And a third wizard was stationed with the infantry units, just in case. Elani also had her own appointed wizard, Admon, a young but experienced truth-seeker, though untested in a crisis.

At the behest of Korathan, who at the last moment finally showed the deep concern he has for his niece, a second personal wizard assigned to Elani: Marigold, a career Court Wizard that had long served the family who specialized in defensive and preventative magics. Korathan thought it prudent, seeing as he was staying behind in Skala to fulfill his duties as Vice Regent in Queen Elani’s absence. He wanted an additional layer of safety, expressly ordering Marigold to not leave Elani’s side for any extended period.

Even at such a small number, the force that marched toward Mycena was the currently the most powerful assembled army in the world, not counting any conscripted fighters. The Queen’s Horse actually had a lot of fun on the road, often leaving the column in groups to hunt down groups of bandits that plagued the small towns their caravan passed through.

Though, after several fights in which Beka’s warriors never suffered casualties or even injuries, utterly clearing out packs of thieves like breaking up a barroom brawl, the bandits became more and more cautious. Eventually the Queen’s Horse had to venture farther and farther away from Elani’s column to complete their raids, so Beka called them all back, and never chased the villains too far.

Seregil and Kordira discussed politics and medicines. They both bonded over their mutual distaste in magic; however while Seregil’s was on a physical level, Kordira’s was on a mental level. She described to Seregil how she thought magic felt like “cheating,” even though she knew the painstaking work that went into mastering spells was comparable to training she had as a doctor.

“The thought just leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” she once said over a campfire in an intellectual debate with Thero. Kordira stuck out her tongue to visualize her distaste. “And I mean no offense to any present! I think magic is awe-inspiring! I simply wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it, myself.”

“Hear, hear,” Essindi cheered, raising her goblet of mead to the ring of friends. She laughed, hiccuped, and finished the draught in a last, elongated swig.

The procession was on schedule to reach the border of Mycena within a few hours. Kordira had her head out the window, taking in the sunny, fresh air. The winds had turned cold, but the pasture they were crossing through were warm, and the long, chest-high grass was still a lush, healthy green. Kordira brought her head in and motioned Seregil away from his book.

“Who is in the carriage in front of us?” she asked, genuinely inquisitive. “I see Master Thero go in almost every day and stay for hours. Is that were little Mika is? Thero is going to work that poor boy to the bone.”

Seregil did not make a reply right away. He folded his book closed and tucked it between the cushions and the carriage wall. “No,” he began, but broke off in a sigh. “Mika is ahead with Alec and Nyal. That carriage there… That’s a boy named Ziemert.”

Kordira immediately recognized the name and nodded, thoughtfully. “One of the prophets, yes. I hadn’t realized we were taking them with us.”

“Not all of them,” Seregil corrected. “Just Ziemert. He’s… different from the others. Thero would like to keep him close.”

Kordira processed this new data and formed her next sentence with care.

“So, why are you not on an away mission with Ser Alec?”

Before Seregil could answer, shouts broke out at the head of the column, and their carriage jerked to a hasty stop. Panic rose among the ranks as confused soldiers and laborers looked around for some sign of a threat. Officers called for Queen Elani, and she rode to the head of the column with her Honor Guard not far behind.

Elani did not need to ask for clarification. As soon as she reached the vanguard, it all became clear. Blocking the path into Mycena was a terrifyingly large, sand-colored creature. Even at more than a mile away, Elani could make out its towering shape waiting for them at the border to Mycena.

“Your Highness!” Thero yelled, galloping on his own horse to meet her.

“Thero,” Admon waved him down, forgetting that his superior was blind. “I couldn’t sense it until it was already on top of us. It flew in so quickly, I thought for sure it was some sort of trap or magical missile.”

“Are we in danger?” Thero asked, huffing with anxiety through his beard.

“I don’t sense any hostility or ill intent,” Admon confirmed, looking back down the road. “On the contrary, he wants us to approach. It’s a griffin, Thero! I’ve never seen a griffin before in my life!”

“That’s not without reason,” Thero grumbled, extending his wizard’s eye to see the griffin up close for himself. The wingedbeast stood patiently, calmly whipping its tail back and forth. It turned its head to one side, as if questioning why the caravan had suddenly halted its course. But then Thero realized that the griffin wasn’t looking toward the caravan, but directly into Thero’s wizard eye.

Thero broke the spell in a panic, quite sloppily, and was all at once blind again. It took him a moment to reconstruct the passive spell that allowed him to see his surroundings.

“From what I know,” Marigold stated confidently. “It’s not a good idea ignore a deadly mythical creature. Your Highness, allow me to cast one additional spell, and then I will consent to us approaching.”

“Affirmative,” Thero said quickly, knowing Marigold would have waited for his go-ahead.

It was Elani’s idea, however, to order her Honor Guard to lag behind a significant distance. “If it has no reason to hurt me, then it won’t,” she argued with Klia as they rode together closer and closer to the monster.

“Even so, if you’re going in alone,” Klia scolded as she would a student and not a Queen, “then remember, no matter how much you love Noriel… horses can be replaced. The Queen of Skala cannot. Use her as a shield, and that will buy us enough time to get to your side.”

“I know,” Elani quipped, scratching her horse Noriel in her favorite spot under her ear. “But it won’t come to that, I promise, Noriel.”

“Your Majesty,” were the first words off the griffin’s tongue. It undulated its voice in the perfect imitation of human speech. In fact, the only thing giving the speaker away to blind Thero was the high whistle noise that accompanied his words. Like a bird singing pitches Thero wasn’t sure sighted people could hear. It ruffled his neck feathers, cordially unveiling his crested brow.

Elani dismounted, bending at the waist in a semblance of a bow fueled by sheer respect. She kept her wide eyes on the large creature, its very presence a dazzling spectacle.

“Never have I been so humbled,” Elani spoke aloud, still gaping. “All titles and honorifics spoken in Skalan pale in comparison. It is almost a crime; hearing a being such as yourself call me Majesty.”

The great bird head blinked slowly, and the griffin cooed with unabashed affection. Its talons clawed at the grass as if preening, and extended its wings in the air. Even though there was a great distance between it and the crowd, everybody with a weak heart retreated several paces. The griffin’s soft down fluttered like snow into the wind.

The softest of breezes snatched up a large, golden feather, and blew it into Elani’s hair where it tangled in her braid.

“You are the incarnation of the word, Queen Elani,” the griffin spoke, still visibly pleased. He pawed at the ground with excitement, and the bystanders drifted back to the miraculous exchange. “You may call me Pluxu, Prince of the Griffins,” he said, and followed this up with a succinct two-syllable chirp. “That is how my name is pronounced in my language, but I laugh every time humans try to whistle. You are such imprecise creatures! No person has ever once said my name correctly, in all my six-hundred years!”

Elani chuckled, stalling for time for her brain to catch up with reality, and repose after staggering for so long.

“Then I won’t feign to try,” she responded kindly, relaxing her body into a soldier’s ease. With a single hand, she absently steadied her horse at her side, keeping it from losing its cool while facing down a beast three times its size. “Just know, Prince Pluxu, that your presence here today is the most pleasant of surprises, one without precedent in my life.”

“Then we are both humbled,” Pluxu said, dipping his head until it touched the grass. He rose to attention once more, but slowly and with purpose, to not spook any of the spectators. The air around him, the way he carried himself, changed immensely. “But I did not risk showing myself out in the open simply to make your acquaintance.”

“The Rethanoi know you are coming,” Pluxu said gravely. “They have been shown a vision by their Moon Goddess that the Skalans march. They are vacating their forests and blazing trails deeper into the mountains, deeper into my mountains.”

“You have my condolences,” Elani said when Pluxu paused to ruffle his wings. If birds could sigh, it would sound like a griffin sighing. “One of my kin is dead, felled by the Rethanoi over a territory dispute. We griffins have always known to leave you humans alone to your own devices. You give the lakes and mountains names, but never ask what they themselves want to be called. Mycena, Skala, Rethanoi. These are names. Do you know what these lands you tread used to be called? A thousand years ago?”

Shaking her head, Elani did not answer. She feared that she may have misunderstood Pluxu’s intentions, and tensed up once more. “Nothing,” Pluxu answered. “For there was a time when these lands belonged to no one. Queen Elani… do you portend to claim… that you own these lands?”

Pluxu allowed Elani a moment to think, though he did not take his eyes off of her as she debated the question in her mind. At last, a steely confidence filled Queen Elani’s eyes, and she smiled her most royal smile.

“I believe ownership is a delicate topic,” she began, and Pluxu restlessly flexed his wings. “As Queen of Skala, some of my subjects might say I own this land. Though in a way, that is too simple an explanation. Does a shepherd's hound own the sheep because it barks the loudest?”

“Not at all,” Pluxu replied without hesitation, putting on philosophical airs. “Everyone knows the shepherd owns the sheep.”

Elani simpered and looked away down the road. They still had so far to go, and though this was enjoyable, Elani had no conception of how long the prince of the griffins intended to waylay them.

“The sheep own themselves. The shepherd provides the pasture. The hound defends against the wolves. My shepherds are the Four, my people are the flock, and I am the hound that eviscerates those who seek to disrupt our harmony. I do not own these lands. A thousand years ago, they belonged to no one. A thousand years from now, it will be the same story, Prince Pluxu.

The griffin squawked loudly in approval, and all of the pack animals within earshot snorted and turned to run, being caught at the last moment by their handlers.

“The Rethanoi did not make such an impassioned argument. They used magic, arrows, and spears to take the life of one of my flock. And the Rethanoi are only this close to our mountains because you Skalans march.” Pluxu lifted his front leg like an arm and clenched his taloned fist. “I too eviscerate any enemies that threaten my kin.”

Elani solicited no response, only waiting patiently. The griffin looked to be taking a moment to compose itself, perhaps trying to hide signs of grief. “What happened that forced blood to spill?” she asked once she sensed the time was right.

“Not all griffins are polite,” Pluxu admitted woefully. “In fact, a good many of them don’t think human beings to be well… smart. Some, a derelict few, the old and wheezing, still consider man to be nothing more than cattle.”

“I should introduce those ones to woman sometime. I’m certain I’d sway a few, then.”

Pluxu chirped again, gleefully, but he settled just as quickly. “I’m not supposed to be here, but who cares? At the end of the day, the Rethanoi were justified and vindicated by our courts. They told the same account our independent investigators had concluded. This griffin they killed was a well known sabre-rattler. In the end, he had plenty of initiative to communicate his desires to the tribe that invaded his home. Instead, he chose violence, in what I can only assume was the hope he could wipe out the entire tribe quickly if he caught them by surprise.”

Pluxu clucked his tongue several times in his beak and swished his lion’s tail angrily. “Turns out, a single common-blood griffin is not strong enough to fight off a tribe of men. The Rethanoi were thankfully cooperative when I arrived, at the least. All’s well that ends well!”

“But your Majesty,” Pluxu broke in again, coming closer so that his shadow chilled Elani’s horse. “I see you are indeed marching, just like the Rethanoi say, and this is troubling to me. I would like to hear why you are crossing your border into Mycena when no wars on the globe are being waged right now? Why instigate all of this upheaval?”

Elani gestured to her honor guard behind her. “I am not aware of how much knowledge you possess of human culture or traditions. But we are… fragile… scared. We find strength in numbers, to make up for this weakness, and bolster ourselves with what tools and knowledge we have at our disposal. We are creatures who, for lack of a better word, enjoy fighting.”

Pluxu stirred uncomfortably, but said nothing understandable in Skalan tongue.

“So when we gather in large numbers at arms, it doesn’t have to be to march to war. It just makes us feel more comfortable when we travel. I personally am not concerned about waging battles with the ancient and noble creatures of this planet. My loyal subjects only insist on such an entourage in case we are attack by other humans. We actually want peace. With the Rethanoi and the…” Elani paused. She looked at Klia, all subtly stripped away.

At Klia’s nod to continue, Elani finished: “Hazadrielfaie. To meet with open minds and… transparency.”

Pluxu shifted on his feet, looming closer. “I am suspicious,” was all he offered Elani.

“Prince Pluxu,” Elani whispered, hoping he was naturally gifted enough to be able to hear her. “Illior… has sent us a warning.” The griffin circled Elani, nudging her horse out of the way and off to the side. “Having to do with… Seriamaius.”

Pluxu reared back with such ferocity that Elani’s horse bolted, and nobody, not ever her stable hands, chased after the mare. Elani cowered for a moment, shielding her face from the flying dust, but recomposed herself just as Pluxu did.

“My apologies,” Pluxu panted, still startled.

“We humans,” Elani continued, her head held high, “are fragile… and we find strength… in numbers.”

Pluxu did not produce noises that Elani could decipher as speech. Although his eyes burned brightly, like smoldering embers of coal. He retreated back away from the mob of people, wading into the tall grasses, putting distance between himself and Queen Elani. He turned around, clucking. “I cannot possibly see merit… in those who claim humans are stupid animals. You are, in fact, quite impressive. Carry on, Elani, with my blessing. I foresee this shall not be the last time you and I chat. And I make that proclamation with the intent to see it done.”

Elani could only see one side of Pluxu’s head, but the timing of his one eye closing and opening could only be interpreted as a wink.

The wind from Prince Pluxu’s wings disturbed the soil and grass beneath him, and Elani’s hair blasted around her face as the mythical creature took flight. From a standing position on all fours, he beat his wings once, twice, and on the third he was airborne and rising towards the sea of clouds above.

The Mycenian governments welcomed Elani and her troops with open arms, giving her feasts and begging they sample their hospitality for a few weeks before moving on. Though none of it impacted Elani as much as her encounter with Prince Pluxu. Never staying too long in any one place, Elani always pressed her column forward, until at last they had made it to their last checkpoint before reaching Ivywell:

The city of Wold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! Feel free to leave a comment or question. Also, I recently lost my beta-reader, so this is the first chapter unedited by them. Let me know if it feels noticeable.
> 
> Also, not endorsed by Hershey. I just really like their chocolate/theme park.


	7. Chapter 6: The Secret Road to Ivywell

**Chapter 6**

**The Secret Road to Ivywell**

Nyal stroked his horse’s neck with tender hands. Under his breath, he shushed the panting, frightened beast in an attempt to calm it. The stallion bucked for a moment, attempting to stand again, but its broken leg cracked under its own weight, and it fell once more into the snow bank.

Alec was hitching up Rava with an extra pack, keeping its periphery hidden from its felled brethren on the road. The horse reacted about as well as Alec could manage, digging its hooves into the permafrost with an agitated snort.

Mika shivered in the wind, clutching his cloak around him, his teeth chattering. He switched between inspecting Alec’s worried face and Nyal’s compassionate, yet blank expression. The sun had long ago set, and usually the three of them had already set up a camp by now.

However, Nyal’s horse Kepkalta had faltered after sinking into a hidden pit in the snow. Despite Nyal’s careful riding and the warhorse’s training, accidents could still strike from nowhere.

Nyal looked up into the sky, watching his breath fog and rise into the accumulating clouds. In a few hours, the wind would push them in front of the moon, and then they would be well and truly fucked.

“I am so sorry, Kepkalta,” Nyal whispered into the horse’s ear. At the sound of its name, the beast sighed sorrowfully, as if in reserved acceptance. Nyal took this moment as a sign, and sliced his knife across the horse’s artery. Kepkalta jerked at the touch, but did not fight as its blood painted the ground.

All three in the company were silent as the horse bled out. Nyal patted Kepkalta’s neck one last time, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

“Had it been summer…” Alec said, consolingly.

“Yes,” Nyal agreed, standing and swiping the dry snow away from his britches. “And if we weren’t under such constraints. Alas…”

Mika said nothing. He was exhausted and tired of standing around in the freezing snow. It was so cold, however, that he couldn’t think of anything else but getting warm. He even cast an envying gaze towards the steam rising from Kepkalta’s gaping throat.

Alec tightened the knots on Rava’s back, the horse obviously displeased with the extra baggage. He joined Nyal’s side, rubbing the sleep that was creeping in away from his eyes. “Things have gotten very bad,” Nyal stated in a low whisper, hoping Mika was not eavesdropping.

Nodding, Alec pulled his hood over his face to keep out the biting wind. “We’re being hunted,” he said gravely. Nyal pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“They’re about two days behind us,” Nyal confirmed. “They’ve been tailing us for a while. Days. Maybe weeks. When I first noticed we were being followed, I couldn’t rule out it being just a coincidence.” Nyal sniffed, and heard the echoing sniffles and cough from Mika on the other side of the road. The boy didn’t look like he was going to be joining them any time soon; not while he and Alec were standing over Kepkalta’s corpse. “After they followed us through those rapids… I’m certain of it now.”

“It’s the Hazad,” Alec told Nyal. “I don’t know how they pinpointed us out of all the other Skalan travellers. But they did.” Alec bit his lip, thinking over their dour condition.

“They’re good,” Nyal sighed, defeated. “Navigating channels I didn’t think they’d be able cross, also disappearing from time to time. When we're on the move like this, I can't branch out my scouting as much as I'd like to, but still…” Nyal broke off, the frustration in his voice choking him. “And Illior has not been smiling on us lately.”

Alec paced the roadside briefly, quelling the panic that was slowly bubbling up within his chest. “We can’t make it to Ivywell with only one horse while being hunted. If we split up - one of us taking Mika to the nearest town - it might buy us valuable time. The Hazad won’t attack a populated enough city, especially one with garrisons.”

“Honestly,” Nyal considered, “if we push ourselves, I could see us making it to Ivywell in four days. Keeping to the road that is.”

“That’s the good news,” Alec agreed. “We’re so close to getting to a defensible position, but those riders will close a two-day gap in no time. Especially if they begin to get desperate, catching wind that we’re picking up the pace. Getting to Ivywell before they realize it’s our final stop, and we can turn the tables back on them.”

Nyal looked down the road, listening for any signs of movement. “That’s a better idea than splitting up. I’m not sure how many faie they have their company, they could easily just divide into two hunting parties. At that point, we’ve made it easier for them to catch us.”

Alec was trying very desperately not to get angry. One small misstep, and their entire journey (which had, up until this point, gone on without a hitch) was in shambles.

“Even if we were clever about it,” Alec growled, “the Hazad are skilled trackers. I wouldn’t put it past them to be able to find us even after covering our tracks. Last time I encountered these hunters, they were accompanied by a Rethanoi witch who could track us via magic. It made their ambush techniques that much more effective.”

“It’s clear,” Nyal said, taking a breath. “We can spare a few more hours at the most… Once the dawn comes, we’ll have lost our head start entirely.”

“We need another horse,” Alec clarified, covering his mouth with his hand in thought.

“There’s a farm,” Mika called out over the wind, and the other men looked at him confused. “I sent out a wizard’s eye,” Mika explained, pointing into the forest. “Only two miles that way. It has a stable with several animals, and I can only sense one person living there.”

Alec and Nyal shared a look of approval, smiling.

“Alright,” Nyal began, hope rekindling in his heart. “You and Mika bring us back a horse. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to cover our tracks. If the Hazad find out one of horses is dead, they may get the wrong idea and press their advantage.”

“We’ll be fast!” Alec took off in a jog, taking Mika by the arm as he whipped by. The teenager yelped and was nearly dragged through the snow before his feet caught up with him.

The farm was a large one. Alec and Mika soon broke out of the forest into a pasture where herd animals like cattle would normally graze. However, deep snow banks covered the expanse, and in the distance a firelight twinkled like a blazing star.

The vaulted over the picket fence, and silently trudged their way to the side of the barn’s stable. They huddled there for a moment, discussing their plan.

Mika knocked on the front door with his mittened fist. The iron hinges jangled loosely with rust, and Mika heard a chair skid across a rough, dirt floor. There wasn't any sound except for the howling wind, so Mika assumed the man had heard him and was on alert.

“Please!” Mika called, pounding on the thick wood more vigorously. “I only need directions!”

The door rattled, and Mika jumped. He glanced back to where he knew Alec was hidden away, but obviously couldn’t see him for any signs of affirmation. “Go away! Follow the road!” The irritated and gruff shouting was a palpable deterrent, but Mika continued, insisting on getting his way.

“The snow has covered it over, and my… horse fell! Please, it’s dark and I know there’s a town nearby!”

The door screeched open and the iron rattled noisily. A large, barrel-chested man loomed in the frame, his hulking form taking up all the space and plunging small Mika into shadow.

“I… I…” Mika stammered, taken aback. “Just… want directions, ser.”

“Scared?!” the man bellowed. He looked Mika’s trembling form up and down with an indignant eye.

“Cold, ser!” Mika responded quickly, the truth spilling from him much easier than lies. “Please! Ivywell is nearby, isn’t it?”

“Nearby!” Scoffed the man, scratching at his uncomfortable tunic. “Ivywell is a ten day trip along the road, with no horse!”

“I’m in trouble!” Mika cried, pulling tears from his eyes. They came with such little effort, it was startling. “I don’t want to freeze to death!”

“I’ll sell you a horse,” the gruff man growled, looking back at his dinner next to his warm fireplace.

“I don’t have money,” Mika whined, and the man’s expression grew ever more suspicious.

“You Skalan, boy?” he asked, and Mika swallowed around his swelling tongue. “I hear your accent. Skalan boys… raised to be equal to their girls. Some say it means they pulled the women up to be on a man’s level.”

He leaned forward so that his whiskey breath steamed in the wind. “Some would say… it dragged their men down to the women’s level.”

Mika shivered, his skeleton jumping in his skin.

The man straightened back up to his full height and barked out a long, throaty guffaw. “Now you’re scared, boy,” he threatened, waving his finger at Mika. “Get out of here, before I do decide to let you in. And, boy, you don’t want that.”

“Can’t I just take a horse and pay you back later?” Mika begged once more.

The local put a meaty hand on Mika’s shoulder and corralled him closer, bumping into his barrel chest. He spun Mika so that he was now on the side of the doorway’s threshold. He dug his heels into the ground, gasping in surprise.

“You don’t fool me, guttersnipe!” The man’s hairy arm eclipsed Mika’s field of view as they grappled together. “I was talking tough to scare you off your mark, but you’re real persistent! You wanna steal from me? Not on my watch. I need a farm hand though, and you’ll do nicely.”

“Let me go, or I’ll hurt you!” Mika screamed, his voice cracking.

“You one of those brats looking for fame and fortune at the new and improved Ivywell? Bad news, kids! Construction’s all done! The big menial labor has passed, they ain’t got any work for orphans like you!”

“Is there a problem here?” Alec asked, in a low octave to sound menacing. The burly man turned his head slightly around to acknowledge him. Though nearly not as short as Mika, even Alec had to glare upwards at this towering behemoth of a man. He let Mika slip from his grasp as he faced the more immediate threat.

“This calf yours?” he returned, boosting up the intimidation himself. Alec glanced sidelong back at Mika, who was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, trying to communicate some idea to Alec. Alec raised his eyebrow to signal his confusion, and Mika wrung his hands in frenzied thought.

At last, he made an exaggerated grimace and flicked his thumb across his throat several times in quick succession. Alec’s stare hardened before returning his attention to the man, unsheathing a dagger from some hidden spot up his sleeve.

Mika gasped and wildly waved his hands in front of him. Thankfully Alec got the obvious gesture. Unfortunately, so too did the barrel chested man. He angrily pivoted, looming once again over Mika. The boy hopped in panic before casting out his dominant hand. Instantly the man’s knees buckled, and he collapsed on himself to the ground with a groan.

The heavy thud rattled the stable nearby, and the horses whinnied nervously in their stalls. Mika released the breath he was holding in a single prolonged word: “Shit!”

“Well, is he dead?” Alec asked, returning his knife to his sleeve. Mika stumbled over himself and went to the man’s side, looking him over. He obviously didn’t know the answer right away. “Gods have mercy, Mika, is he dead?”

“He has a pulse, he’s just passed out,” Mika replied promptly. He continued to pant in excitement, and held his hand on his heart. “Master Thero kept me indoors for most of his lessons…” he stated, hoping that would mitigate how Alec judged his sloppy spellcasting.

Instead, Alec knelt beside him, doubling checking the man’s pulse just to be sure for himself. “It could have gone a lot worse,” he chuckled, and Mika gave him a wary half-smile. “No, really, that could have gone significantly worse if you weren’t so savvy.” With this, he ruffled Mika’s hair and stood again.

“Your sign language needs the most work,” Alec commented, and Mika winced inwardly. After a moment’s thought, Mika allowed himself a relieved chuckle.

“Yes, Master Alec.”

“And one more thing,” Alec continued, holding out his hand for Mika’s. “You can leave off the ‘Master’, alright? We’re outside the city now, in the wild. The only laws that apply here are the laws of nature. And she does not care one bit what you call her; so neither do I.”

“Do you think we should take one more horse?” Mika mused, almost to himself. He stared back into the darkness at the warm stables where the beasts nickered, steam billowing out from those evil nostrils. “You know? What if another one stumbles. We’d have to steal more anyway.”

“Dealing in ‘what-ifs’ is a bad idea,” Alec grunted, hitching the largest of the horses with its gear. “We are prepared to steal another horse if even this one falls. That means we have a plan should that particular ‘what-if’ occur.”

Alec beckoned to Mika, who stepped around the unconscious man, but stayed a good distance back from the horses’ stalls.

“What I don’t have a plan for….” Alec crossed the stable, kicking aside hay and horse shit. He then took Mika’s hand again and led him further into the smelly, dank darkness. Mika could positively feel each time one of the beasts snorted, and the air that whooshed past his face every now and then made him gag.

“Taking two or more horses - greedily I might add, seeing as we have no immediate need for that many - means having to also feed and watch out for them. More horses also attract more attention, obviously. Say, also, that we did take two horses, and they both stumble in the dark before we even make it back to Nyal. Then everything here was for nothing, and in my scenario, there are two dead horses instead of one.”

“So?” Mika spat, his body tense and trembling.

Alec sighed through his nose and looked away, composing his thoughts. Finally, he said, “We’ve inconvenienced this man enough for one night. This horse is hitched. Take its reins and lead it back to the road. Ride him if you feel like, but get this horse back to Nyal.”

“W-wait,” Mika stammered as Alec began trudging away. “Why can’t you -”

“I’m taking this man back inside his house.”

“I can carry him with magic easier than you can lift him.”

“I know you can,” Alec acknowledged, turning and placing his hands on his hips. He pointed his finger at Mika for emphasis. “But I want you to do that to learn a lesson.” With that, he began to heave the burly man by his armpits, and started to drag him.

Mika turned back to look into the shadows, breathing through his mouth now. “Where are the reins?” he shouted over his shoulder, but there was no reply. Now Mika was on his own. Mika’s pants were soaked with snow and sweat up to his knees before he caught sight of Nyal along the road. Kepkalta has vanished, and there was no trace of her blood, but Mika could still smell iron on the wind.

“Why didn’t you ride him?” Nyal asked, taking the horse from Mika’s white knuckled grip.

“Because he’s afraid of horses,” Alec teased, emerging from the shadows. “We ran into some problems, but Mika kept his head about him.”

“Some poor farmer is going to wake in the morning with one doozy of a hangover,” Nyal chucked to himself.

“Don’t go taking his side, the man was the size of a wild elephant.” Alex ruffled the snow from his hair, sniffing, and inspecting the horizon.

“All the same,” Nyal continued, sounding pleased. “We’ve stolen back valuable time. I won’t shed tears for Mycenian elephant farmers.”

“Why didn’t we just kill him?” Mika asked, his tone inquisitive but not malicious. “I mean… humor me and extrapolate…” When neither man interjected, Mika continued.

“If we did kill that man, we could hole up in his house, have access to his livestock and preserves. It’s a fortified position with renewable resources and it would keep us safe from the weather. I can put up barriers, Alec can set up traps, and Nyal can watch for the Hazad. Their hunters, not siege-warriors. They’d never make it past us. Queen Elani’s procession will be upon us, along this very road, in only a week or two. We can last that long, no problem!”

“Your observations are calculated and astute." Alec cleared his throat, constructing his argument. "I’m not going to waste our time debating those points. Instead, I want to address the more troubling subtext of your statements.” Alec paused, getting closer to Mika so that he could hear him over the wind nipping their ears.

“You think you that man is a stranger. You think you’d never see that man again. You forget you have to see his body when you bury it. You forget you’ll see his face in your dreams.”

Alec shook his, grimacing in a sneer. “You think that when you stand on the shores of the afterlife… that those ghosts won’t be waiting for you. Will you be ready then? Not just some cadaver. He’s a life that you took and keep with you. Can you carry him for the rest of your life, until you lay that burden down on Astellus’ shore? If you aren’t adding that into your calculations...”

Alec didn’t finish. He punctuated his lesson with a hard glare, searching the answer in Mika’s eyes. After a moment, he leaned back, satisfied in what he saw.

“I think we should go now,” Nyal intervened. “Mika, Alec may be trying to treat you gently, but we all knew what it meant to go on this quest. Mika, get up on that horse. Ride it down the road. Alec and I will catch up to you.”

“But I -” Nyal cut the boy off with a clap to his back.

“Alec asks you nicely,” Nyal winked. “I give you orders. Ride.”

After Mika had clumsily galloped the stolen horse some distance, Nyal smirked in Alec's direction.

“I see so much potential in that boy,” Nyal admitted, and saw the frank smile blossom on to Alec’s lips as well. “You know… I’m worried about you. And Seregil.”

“Me and Seregil?” Alec inquired, his tone bristling.

“We’re almost to Ivywell, and you haven’t once mentioned a plan for how you’ll trick the native locals of Ivywell into thinking you’re their Baron.”

Alec pouted, distracting himself by looking down the road at Mika again.

“You have no plan whatsoever,” Nyal said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He shook his head in disappointment. “Which means you plan on keeping to the shadows even after Seregil arrives with Elani.”

“It’s the simplest solution!” Alec said, defending himself. “I don’t have to once set foot in the town, and it’s probably better I don't!”

“Alec…”

“I can forage and hunt for food, and protect the borders from possible invaders.”

“Alec,” Nyal said, more forcefully this time. “What will Seregil’s solution be?”

“Whatever he wants, he can figure that out on his own.”

The gales blasted between them, carrying fresh snow from the sky above. If they started moving now, their tracks would be covered by dawn.

Nyal sighed. He let his arms fall from being crossed over his chest to sway idly at his sides. “Alright, I support you.”

Alec blinked, licking his chapped lips. “You what?”

“Alec,” Nyal started, putting both hands to each side of his face. “I see your love for Beka. It rivals even mine! She holds you so dear in your heart, and so do I.”

“Should the time ever come…” Nyal stopped, and his stoic mask cracked. “I support you, Alec. You.”

Alec stared at the ground for a moment, counting his breaths. He pulled away from Nyal's hesitant fingers. “Not Seregil, is what you’re saying.”

Nyal winced, the truth stinging him. “Not in… so many words.”

“I understand,” Alec said, putting on a smile. “Thank you, Nyal. That means a lot to me, actually.”

“We should get going,” Nyal responded, breaking away and walking towards Rava. “Mika is sure to be thrown from that stallion in a matter of minutes.”

The two of them laughed together, through the snow, and saddled Rava. They cantered after Mika and the stolen horse at a brisk pace, and quickly found him walking his horse along the right side of the road.

They didn’t stop that night, Mika falling asleep against Alec’s chest as the more experienced travelers hurried the horses along. The three of them kept going even after dawn and Mika woke, groggy with unhappy dreams. They stopped a few times to eat what rations of provisions they still had left, watering the horses, and sometimes even doubling back through the woods at Nyal’s suggestion.

Alec didn’t suggest making a camp until the sun started setting again along the horizon. At first, Nyal disagreed. He wanted to keep pressing forward, fearing the overestimation he had of the Hazad in his head. Unfortunately, one look at the tired, worn out horses, and the decision to stop was finalized.

But Mika couldn’t sleep. The small fire he laid next to gave off some heat in spite of the wind, and the heavy wool blanket he wrapped around himself was doing a good job of fighting off the chill. He could feel himself begin to drift into sleep, however just as his lids closed his mind would jolt itself awake with some paranoid thought.

Mika didn’t stir when Nyal, the first of them to be on watch, stood silently from his crouched position. Mika pretended to be asleep as Nyal drifted from the glow of the campfire until not even the moon illuminated him anymore. Nyal was in the habit of doing this frequently - far too restless for his own good while in the wild - therefore Mika thought nothing of it.

Mika was beginning to have pleasant thoughts, imagining hunting in the woods with Alec, hoping this would translate into his dreams when sleep finally took him.

Instead, a cold touch shattered his meditation. Mika felt something sharp, like a pin, pricking against his gullet, and opened his eyes with a start. He was greeted by a fearsome red and white painted face, its owl’s eyes and beak dark in the firelight. Hollow. Mika went to scream, but a forceful hand cut him off, and the knife at his throat broke skin.

Alec bolted upright from where he was sleeping, sword drawn in an instant. The stranger took Mika by the neck and brought him up to their chest, using the boy as a human shield. Warm blood trickled down Mika’s clavicle, itching in the cold gales that pushed its teardrop path under his collar. Though he dared not move to wipe it away.

“Let the boy go,” Nyal’s voice came from the darkness. He appeared behind Mika’s assailant, dagger in hand, just an arm’s reach away. Mika tried to steady his breath, but things were happening so quickly. He had heard neither his attacker’s nor Nyal’s approach, not even the crunch of snow.

Alec had been the same way back in Rhiminee. A ghost that vanished and reappeared at will. These hunters, Alec, and Nyal… they were all so experienced and skilled. Mika swallowed in shame, his adam’s apple bobbing and cutting deeper into the steel that was perched there. Now he was a hostage, a liability.

“Will you let the boy go?” Nyal asked, more softly this time. “I will even say please.”

“You think you have me surrounded,” the distinctly feminine voice replied, her words ringing with poison behind her heavy huntress mask.

“No,” Alec said, and the huntress shot her hidden glare back at him, her ornate warrior’s jewelry clinking like strings of brittle bones. Alec chanced a look around, still clutching his sword with his dominant hand. With his left, he extended his hand gingerly. “I can see there are at least three others. We’re the ones surrounded.”

“Our company has twice the number yours does,” the stranger bragged behind her mask.

“Why do you attack us?” Alec asked, looking perplexed. “We’re just travellers along the road, we have no gold, only the horses we rode in on. Please, leave us in peace.”

“No tricks, Alec Two-Lives!” the stranger boomed. She hooked her arm around Mika’s neck, choking him. Then she freed her knife from his jaw and pointed it at Alec. Nyal instinctively went to grab for the boy, but he was struck from behind and fell into the snow. With a grunt, he rolled twice before jumping up again at the relative safety of Alec’s side.

Another hunter in a wolf’s mask emerged from behind a tree, carrying a bludgeoning club. Nyal squinted at this one and spat into the fire in disgust. They had gotten the drop on him after all. 

Alec, on the other hand, took a hesitant step closer.

“Rieser?” he called, hopefully. “Rieser!” Alec raised his voice to carry, and shouted into the darkness:

"Rieser!”

“You should be so lucky,” replied the wolf-masked assassin, snorting a chuckle under his breath.

The owl-masked huntress hitched her elbow higher, forcing a cough out of Mika. “Rieser has other duties back home, Alec Two-Lives,” she said, disdainfully. “Preparing our defenses for your Queen. We know she’s coming; she’s made it painfully obvious.”

“Wait,” Alec implored, stepping closer again. “We’re not looking for a fight! Not us, not Elani! We only want to talk!”

“We know that too,” interjected the wolf-masked man. “The seventh member of our company is a Rethanoi witch. He says his Moon Goddess has shown him prophecies of the future.”

“Illior has spoken to us,” Nyal said, speaking up. “He has given us a mission to seek out and treat with the Hazadrielfaie! Please, go back to your forests and give your people the news. Peace marches to your borders, not war!”

The female hunter aimed her knife this time at Nyal, the steel singing as it cut through the air. “Peace always marches!” she said with finality. “It’s always a day ahead, somewhere over the distant horizon. I’ll believe in peace when it stops marching, and settles down for once.”

“If you breach into our forests,” threatened the wolf-masked man, “we will fight you with everything we have. Tell your people that, Alec Two-Lives.”

The way they both said his name made it sound like some sort of curse, like it was the most disgusting, monstrous name they could think of to call him. It made Alec’s skin crawl, and his blood boil with anger. But he did not rise to their caustic taunts, only clenched his jaw stubbornly tighter.

“Mika,” Alec said at last. “Let Mika go. We’re on the road to Ivywell. Not your domain. That is where Elani and her army is headed, and that is where we are headed. Skala has no intention of breaching your borders uninvited and causing a new war to break out.”

The two hunters hovered ominously with Mika between them, their silent, judgmental stares boring through their masks into Alec’s eyes.

“Ivywell?” the huntress pondered at long last. Her grip on Mika loosened, and the teenager saw his opportunity.

Mika’s vision turned a blazing red, and he allowed the power within him to erupt outward in a fantastic explosion of light.

The Hazad hunters were thrown to either side of the camp, completely taken by surprise, and landed in the snow with cries of pain. Alec and Nyal began to spring into action, but they were blocked immediately by the sudden arrival of more hunters.

The Hazad brandished their weapons, revealing spears, swords, and bows. All aimed at the three weary travelers. The wolf-masked hunter recovered the quickest, having been behind the full force of Mika’s magic attack. He cast about for his dagger and, having found it, searched his immediate surroundings for the owl-masked woman.

He caught sight of her, far away from his protection, crumpled like a rag-doll against a tree trunk.

“Khirnari!!” he shouted, the fear and pain in his voice cracking like thunder. Mika, managing to collect and stow his power once more, grinned with a confident smirk. It had been years since he had seen the Red Magic, and it had blasted out of him completely unrestrained. He was certain he would be seeing that woman’s owl-masked face again on Astellus’ shore.

The woman flinched, and Mika’s expression froze like the ice that surrounded him. Slowly, the huntress pushed herself up by her hands, positioning her feet shakily beneath her, and stood upright once more. Mika gawked, staring in astonishment at the woman’s broken owl-mask, it’s left side completely blown apart. The woman’s dark hair spilled out from behind it, and her blue eyes burned with the campfire’s angry reflection.

She reached beneath her hunter’s garb and tore a wooden medallion from her neck, snapping its leather cord with a furious pull. She looked at it briefly, her one exposed eyebrow furrowing in anger.

“This ward has protected my family for generations,” she growled, tightening her fist around it. With an anguished cry, she threw the burnt and broken amulet into the snow at her feet, panting heavily with emotion.

“Arfarjis warned us the boy had magic,” another female hunter wielding a spear chastised.

“Silence!” the woman commanded, sheathing her knife. “We leave you now, Alec Two-Lives. Remember our warning. Do not follow us.”

With that, the Hazadrielfaie hunters vanished into the forest.

Alec collapsed to the ground onto his butt, sighing heavily and wiping his eyes. “They do have a witch…” he grumbled, mostly to himself, and rested his head in his free hand.

“And they somehow caught up to us,” Nyal observed, “even after we went to such lengths to get ahead.”

Mika did not offer any commentary. He merely stared into the dwindling fire, dazed.

“They left us alive, though” Nyal continued, eyeing Mika. “And no small part due to our wizard friend here.” Mika smiled at this, but remained silent.

“Nyal,” Alec called, and the aurenfaie perked his ears up at hard tone in Alec’s voice. Alec was also staring into the fire, his face like a marble carving in the perfect expression of a man lost in thought. “Near the end… when the female Hazad got injured, and the other hunters rushed to her aid…”

“Yes?” Nyal asked, seeing if he could parse out Alec’s intentions.

“How many attackers did you count?”

Nyal blinked. “Eight.”

“Eight,” Alec agreed, nodding. But his voice sounded grim and full of suspicion. “Seven hunters, one Rethanoi witch.”

Mika picked up his head, his mouth gaping open. “But… that hunter said….”

“Yes,” Alec stated, leaning his back against the tree trunk. He closed his eyes, looking to fall back asleep again. “Yes, he did….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays everyone!
> 
> Here's a thought: Would any of your be interested in me reading these chapters out loud for an audio experience? Is that something you'd peeps like? Let me know in the comments!


	8. None

Hi friends. 

I had anticipated finishing this fan fiction while also trying to figure out my life. It has come to my attention that these are two mutually exclusive goals.

Who cares? It's just more words. It doesn't change anything. I can't make money off of this. It won't put food on the table. These characters aren't real, aren't important, and are ultimately distracting me from a solid 9-to-5. I can't pretend like I can just do something I love and survive in this world at the same time. One of these things has got to go.

So, I'm gonna get a full time job at some grocery store and be miserable and save up my money to claw my way out.of student debt so that I can die of liver cancer after drowning my sorrows in booze, and it'll be horrible and I'll hate it but at least I won't be in debtors prison or dead before my 30s.

And even if you read this and get disappointed because for some reason you liked where this story was going, I've got good news. In a month, you won't care anymore, and it won't matter, and you'll all move on with your lives anyway. Get over it.

Throttle your dreams in their cribs, kiddies, they'll only waste your time. 

Best of luck out there.


	9. Spoilers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest of what I had written as well as the final plot points to this story. It's a disappointing read, and probably not what you wanted out of a Nightrunner story, but all's well that ends, I suppose.

Chapter 7

The brisk morning chill wasn’t something Kordira was used to. In fact, she had been expecting to become acclimated to the cold the further North their company trudged. And it was not a slow pace. Their procession was already making plans to pick up and move. Kordira was wasting valuable time by a watchman’s fire trying to find the warmth in her fingers again. She only had a few hours to gather what little Wold could offer her from it’s small, mold-ridden market.

Mycena was exceedingly average. Almost downright disappointing. Kordira had been expecting to learn from the culture of these peoples, but she quickly came to the conclusion that Mycenian culture did not have the most outstanding of histories. Seregil warned her that this would happen. 

At the end of the day, when Kordira asked questions of the locals they would stare blankly at her for a moment before asking Kordira to repeat herself. And the few scholars she met were just as disenchanted as Seregil had been about Mycena as a country. It seemed like the whole country was simply waiting for Queen Elani to claim them as a Skalan territory. 

As they marched northward, every city-state they encountered had bent over backward to accommodate Elani. And at every turn, she had thwarted their efforts, keeping to her militaristic pace. She made it clear in every village that she was not on a tour but a campaign. Still the people bowed like wheat to the scythe and all but served up their lands to her on a silver platter.

Kordira had never seen negotiation like it. The people were throwing themselves at Elani, desperate for her affection, and she spurned each and every one of them. Queen Elani was indeed a single-minded woman, seemingly oblivious to the country falling to her pseudo-advance as she marched farther and farther into the snowy expanse. Even town more famished than the last. Each town more willing to claim Elani as their Queen. 

Now Wold was doing the same. Something told Kordira that the Lord of Wold already had papers drafted to had the city over to Skala, his signature not even dry on the parchment. It was the most radical overturn of power Kordira had ever witnessed in her lifetime; and she was a woman who had spent many years on the tumultuous island of Sacred Korous. 

Mycenia was on the verge of collapse, and it wanted nothing more than for Skala to reach out and save it. The civilians were all too eager to commit to becoming Skalan if it meant their country would live. Meanwhile, the splintered government that held it all together was not putting up much of a fight in the wake of this revolution. 

Kordira clicked her tongue every time the thought entered her mind. “Damn, when Seregil is right, he’s right.”

“You do understand that summons me?”

If only the cold was as easy to ignore as Seregil, Kordira could master winter with a roll of her eyes. “At this point, I assume you are nearby at any given point,” she quipped, without facing Seregil. She heard him blow into his hands and stamp his feet, and snickered at him.

“What was I right about?” Seregil asked through his gloves. “That Wold was as shitty as I’d imagined? Why, yes it is. How good of you to admit.”

“No!” Kordira spat spitefully. “Well… yes, in a manner of speaking but… ‘NO’ just to be contrary.”

“Good, good, witty banter in the cold, I love this.” Seregil groaned long and loud, his patience running thin. “Listen, can we get a move on? Beka and Klia are expecting to meet us before we set out.”

“Am I taking too long, Lord Seregil?” Kordira asked, knowingly raising her voice to be overheard. “I know how much you hate the cold, I’ve heard you complain heartily enough even when we were further south.”

Seregil glanced over his shoulders, inspecting who was nearby. The watchman, of course, but he didn’t seem to react to Kordira’s spectacle at all. “I’d watch what you say. You were only joking to get a reaction out of me, and I get that, but there’s been a new development.”

Kordira glowered at Seregil, seeing how serious his face had become. He passed her a slip of paper, and she unfolded it without ceremony. 

“You handed me a picture of yourself,” Kordira commented, awestruck. 

Seregil grunted angrily, shivering in his heavy coat. “Sakor’s Flame, read the paper, don’t just glance at it!”

“Are you wanted here or something?”

“Bilary’s Balls! Yes!” Seregil all but shouted, snatching the paper back. “At least six of my alternate personas are banned from that bar across the gods damn street, but that’s not the point.”

Seregil held up the parchment so that he could point out the specifics. 

“Here,” he said, the annoyance corrading his words into a whisper. With his index finger he circled an intricate drawing that accurately portrayed Seregil’s bust. He was even posed a certain way so that his hand was poised coquettishly at his chin, topped off with a dead-giveaway grin. “Me, my full name: Seregil i’ Korit a’Bokthersa, incorrect, I might add, as I have been disowned by the Bokthersa family.”

Seregil jabbed his finger at the second half of the parchment. There was a detailed drawing by the same artist as Seregil’s portrayal. Only this was a bust of Alec. “There,” Seregil said. “Alec’s full name: Alec i’ Gareth, also incorrect and yet…” Seregil pulled the paper away as he shrugged his annoyance off his shoulders. “Correct. Oddly.”

“Look,” Kordira gasped, directing Seregil’s gaze across the street to bar. “It’s another flier pinned to that post.”

“They’re everywhere!” Seregil hissed into her ear. “I can’t believe this. The artist faced Alec’s portrait to the right, exposing his Lissick tattoo.” 

Kordira took the flier from Seregil, getting a closer look at what he was talking about. Alec’s long hair was pulled back, his ear practically the focus of the drawing. It was clear the artist wanted people to see and recognize the dragon bite on his ear. “They even used blue ink,” she mumbled under her breath. “Does Alec have a blue dragon bite on his left ear?”

“He does,” Seregil admitted with a huff. “It’s something that’s very forgettable. He can even put on an earing to hide it completely, but the fact that this flier is pointing that out…”

“And here, on your picture,” Kordira pointed. 

“You’re a quick study as always,” Seregil commended. He pulled off his gloves, risking the freezing cold to make his point. He showed her the blue-stained dragon bite of his own, a much larger one that nearly spanned his hand. “Before you ask, yes, it was very painful. But I’ve had worse.”

“You’re so brave,” Kordira mocked, dryly. Seregil scoffed silently, hastily reapplying his glove. 

“That picture of me also has my Lissick tattoo front and center, detailed in blue ink, for everyone in Wold to see. I didn’t think I would need to lie so low in fucking Wold!”

“How long have these been up?” Kordira asked, her face hard, and her mind at work.

“Weeks,” Seregil confirmed. He shook his head, instinctively pulling the hood over his head. “They went up almost as soon as Elani announced her campaign north.”

Kordira bit her lip and tossed the parchment into the watchman’s fire. She had intended to finish her list of errands, but those plans seemed so paltry now. Seregil watched his face burn away to ash, before nudging Kordira with his elbow. Together, they headed for the encampment, confident in their solitude along the path. 

“Detailed, purposeful, and damn accurate pictures of both you and Alec, heralding you two as the heroes who brought Queen Elani to the north. There’s no way in this world they could have made those fliers in such a short amount of time to have them spread all the way to Wold. They must have had those drawings done years in advance.”

“Exactly,” Seregil added, relieved that Kordira was keeping up. She was indeed going above and beyond even his own expectations for her. “Meaning whoever had them made knows what Alec and I look like, meaning they must have seen us before. In person. That kind of detail you don’t get unless you’re sitting down and posing for the artist! That or take days and days painstakingly reconstructing my face from memory.”

“Is that possible?” Kordira gawked. She shut her mouth, accidently clicking her teeth together in the process. “Oh, of course it is. It must be, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. But just what does it all mean?”

Seregil looked off to the encampment, buzzing with activity as it prepared to depart. 

“It means somebody was spying on me without me finding out about it… And that person, most likely someone in Ivywell, has something extra special prepared for us. And those fliers were the first arrows loosed. Kordira…”

They stopped, holding each other and bracing one another against the howling wind. They searched each other’s eyes for moment, making sure it was safe to continue. “Kordira, I fear there is a trap in Ivywell. Our cover is blown before we’ve even set foot there. Something is exceptionally not right with all of this. Tell me you see it! Tell me you understand!”

Kordira, her hands muffled in her gloves, cupped Seregil’s face, warming his flush cheeks. “I do understand. Then again, the point of a trap is that it happens when you aren’t expecting it. If we’re expecting it, it’s not much of a trap now, is it?”

Seregil considered this. He wasn’t fully convinced, but Kordira’s words placated his nerves. He had not forgotten Kordira’s kind and compassionate treatment of that poor man on Korous. That sick, possessed man only had one light in the world while he was a victim of necromancy. And that light was named doctor Kordira. It no longer puzzled Seregil why this was. The woman was Dalna’s hearth incarnate. 

\-----

There were no immediate challenges in the hall, and enough light from the hanging iron lanterns to see by. Their oil and tinder burned with a surplus of heat designed to melt away ice that sometimes accumulates in the winter from the rafters. There was no echo from Alec’s leather-padded footfalls, but he could hear voices in the distance echoing.

Guards, by the sound of their chatter. Though stationary, near a large fire in a hearth. Alec wanted to leave no room for chance, and risked being seen by the Ivywell men at arms to inspect their guardhouse. 

Leaning in at the door, Alec read the room. Not satisfied that he had gotten a look at every corner, he again peeked through the door crack. He held his gaze long enough for a single bead of sweat to accumulate on his cheek. When he pulled away this time, he strode quickly back towards his room.

There were three guards in the guardroom, but none of them patrolling. In fact, their plates looked like they had been heaped with the homecoming feast’s leftovers, and the soldiers themselves were having a merry time at the bottom of a winecup. 

As Alec committed the room’s layout to memory, he almost rammed headfirst into a fourth Ivywell guard. The tall, broad man snatched up Alec’s shoulders to steady him. 

“Whoa, ser,” the guard slurred, sloppy with drink. “Didn’t see you there when you turned the corner.” Alec fought to steady his heart that was beating wildly at the startling appearance of the armorclad man. Worse yet, the man hadn’t loosened his grip on Alec in the least. They met each other’s eyes, and Alec saw with some relief that the soldier was barely keeping himself upright, swaying gleefully. “I’ve been celebrating,” the soldier said, not deterred by Alec’s silence. He kept averting his eyes, and his face was hot with blood. “Even though I’m on duty. Shh. Don’t tell the captain.”

“The man with the big red beard?” Alec surmised from his scan of the guardhouse. “I’m pretty certain he’s drunker than you, warrior.”

At the glamorous title, the drunk guard plucked up, his face bright. He now looked Alec directly in the eye before giggling and taking Alec into an embrace. Alec didn’t fight, too surprised at feeling the man’s hard penis against his thigh. The man kissed Alec. With tongue. Then pulled away to wipe his mouth clean and beam at his success. 

“You’re definitely one of ‘em foreigners,” the guard teased, brushing Alec’s cheek with his palm. “Any Skalan ‘warrior’ can eat fish… Mycenians know venison is a delicacy.” The man nipped at Alec’s neck. The sting knocked Alec’s senses back into him, and he took control of himself once again.

Pushing the guard to the ground with some considerable force, Alec shouted, “I did not consent to this!”

“Oh sweet Dalna, you didn’t?” the guard wheezed in alarm. “I’m so sorry! I thought you and I… being both a little… tipsy… you know I didn’t… really don’t tell the captain about this!”

Alec had started laughing long into the man’s fumbling apology, and even helped him to his feet again. “Listen, worse things have jumped out at me in the night, I can promise you that. As a Skalan, it’s nice to know Mycenian warriors are so… stout.”

“Jerrium,” the guard introduced himself, taking the compliment in stride. “Though friends call me Jerri.”

“Jerri,” Alec greeted, taking the tall man’s face into his hands. “My name is Alec, Baron of Mirrormoon and Ivywell.” He planted his lips and kissed Jerri. With tongue. Jerri’s dazed, slack jaw hung open, drooling. “Well? That’s how real men greet each other in Mycena, no?”

“B-b-baron… A-a-a-”

“Say,” Alec chuckled, taking the reins. “You’ve been a real treat.” He slipped a golden cestor down the front of the soldier’s pants, and then kept his fingers going until the cold metal hit hot flesh. Jerri lurched uncontrollably and gasped, tightening his hands into fists. 

“You didn’t even know who I was,” Alec mused, taking his hand back. “No need to stand at attention for me, soldier. Why does everyone around here pretend to know who I am once they meet me?”

“B-b-because Lord Vaene commands it,” Jerri admitted immediately, saluting. “He says whatever the Skalans say, we agree with. Especially about you being the real Baron of Ivywell.”

“I see,” Alec chortled. “So everyone’s in on it?”

Jerri gulped, still standing in a soldier’s salute. He nodded the briefest of nods. 

“But you didn’t actually recognize me.”

“Only a handful of people 'ave seen you before today, an’ I ain’t know any of those guys,” Jerri continued, beginning to sway again. He was not sobering up very quickly at all, and was terribly embarrassed at the tent bobbing in his pants. “An’ I was here on guard duty all day, so I didn’t get a chance to see you at the ceremony.”

Alec stroked Jerri’s cheek with his finger all the way down to the corner of the man’s mouth. “Turns out to have been a good thing, yeah?” he flirted, giving Jerri a second, luxurious kiss. As he went to leave, Alec winked one last time. “Thank you again, my Mycenian Knight.”

Alec wasn’t even out of earshot before the sounds of armor clattering into the guardhouse came to him. Off in the distance, he could hear Jerri shouting.

“Oh shit! Oh shit, you guys! You will never believe - ”

“Is that a gold cestor?!”

“Shut up and listen to what just happened!”

The rest of the journey to Vaene’s bedchamber was uneventful. Alec encountered a few more guardhouses, but each told the same story. If they were attacked by a prepared enemy right now, these Ivywell guards would be the first to get culled. They were definitely not used to having important guests, seeing as how they thought beefing up man power was the same as beefing up security.

Vaene’s door was unlocked, and Alec slipped in silently. The room was well lit, and a cluttered mess. Much smaller than Alec had anticipated. Vaene’s unkempt bed was still made up of the kind of quality fabric that nobles in Rhiminee would point out to and laugh. Elegant wood carvings adorned the chamber, made by impressive carpentry skill. The pleasant scent of freshly chopped wood still filled the room, clearly newly built or renovated. 

Alec wished he had time to inspect his surroundings more thoroughly, but several weapons laying haphazard in a pile caught his immediate attention. Swords and knives mostly; olds ones. They didn't gleam in any firelight, except in blotches at the edges. Rusted over and damn near useless. 

Movement to his right signaled Alec to change stance and be alert for attack. There were shadows at play, both from the fire in the hearth and the stars outside. 

Standing just within view, hanging his head low off the balcony, Vaene stood hunched with a glowing ember in his right hand. Alec noticed at once that the man was smoking from a rolled up piece of paper. Vaene looked over his shoulder and caught Alec’s eye, but didn’t looked surprised. He huffed out a breath of smoke into the chilly night air and waved Alec over.

“Excuse the mess,” he grumbled around the smoldering joint. “I don’t allow the servants into my private quarters. It irritates me, people touching my stuff.” 

Alec knew the value of silence, and didn’t want to betray to Vaene what he knew and didn’t know. But Vaene didn’t take up the conversation again, and instead opted to go back to staring at the moon.

“A guy acting so inhospitable,” he said in a low tone. “Puts me on edge. My home is your home, Baron. More literally than figuratively these days, but, eh…”

“Alright,” Alec spat, cutting Vaene off and striding towards the balcony. “Why are you doing this?”

Vaene inhaled from his joint sharply and coughed. He blinked the smoke from his eyes and offered the paper to Alec, who merely stared at it with distrust. “Don’t blame you,” Vaene grunted through his coughing fit. “This is Mycenian weed. Different from the kind of tailor made powders you find in Rhiminee. People really shove little tiny rocks up there noses where you’re from?”

“My father used to smoke,” Alec admitted, refusing the smoking joint with a gesture. Vaene shrugged and inhaled again. “He never let me try it.”

“Good man,” Vaene snorted, spitting into the garden below. He clicked his tongue when his projectile missed its intended target, the stone garden well. “This would probably fry a child’s brain. You got to wait to get older before you can start making decisions on how to kill yourself.”

Alec felt himself warming up to Vaene in a strange way. It was magnetic, like they might have really been brothers if he hadn’t known any better. Friends on sight, the only way Alec could describe it. 

“You know your door is unlocked,” Alec hinted, cocking his head toward the now wide open space.

“I have guards,” Vaene grumbled. 

“Yes, four in each guardhouse to be exact,” Alec sighed in frustration. “They’re all drunk, and only sending out one guard on his own per patrol. And only then when one of them needs to take a piss.”

“Your point?” Vaene asked, taking a long drag until the ember on his rolled up paper vanished into ash.

“If it weren’t for our Skalan soldiers, this big castle of yours would be defenseless.”

“Who’s attacking us?!” Vaene shouted angrily. He wafted his hand out over the garden towards the mountains beyond. “You Skalans? Fucking do it already, then!”

Vaene huffed, having to catch his breath. He pressed the heel of his hand to his throbbing forehead before sinking back down onto the balcony rafter. He shook his head and let out a whine of a sigh. “I’m not cut out for this shit.”

Alec put his hand onto Vaene’s back, but he flinched away instantly. Vaene backed away quietly into his bedchamber before allowing the tension to release from his shoulders. “So why are you doing it?” Alec asked from the porch, not offended at his spurned attempt at camaraderie. 

“Everything I’ve done these past few years, I’ve done with one single goal in mind.” Alec grew suddenly suspicious again, his eyes narrowing upon Vaene. 

“What do you want from us?” Alec asked, allowing his mask of kindness to slip at this key juncture. Vaene was not intimidated. He pushed his blackened paper roll at Alec’s face and held that pose, carefully formulating his next words with utmost care.

“I want you. To get me. The fuck. Out of here.”

Alec stared blankly at his host for several heartbeats. “Maybe you should run that by me one more time, but slower.”

“You some kind of fucking jester?” Vaene said with extra vinegar. 

“But really, I feel like there are key details being omitted from your explaination; ones that may very well help me understand just what the fuck you’re going on about!” Alec’s face flared red for a second before draining away, and Vaene raised an eyebrow, flabbergasted. 

“Are you sure we aren’t brothers?” Vaene snorted, rolling a second joint. He licked the paper shut and lit it with the nearby candle. “Okay, okay, I will be the first to admit that I fly off the handle under pressure…” Vaene waved his hand in the air as if that alone was enough to change the subject. “Let me extrapolate. Me and my buddy, Radbury, want in. On it. Whatever it is. We’re on it too. Open a ledger and sign our names, Alec, and we both wipe our hands clean of Ivywell forever.”

Alec blinked. He took the time to fully process Vaene’s proposal. “You’re just going to drop everything and immigrate to Skala? After all the work you’ve done here?” 

“Fuck here,” Vaene groaned, his eyes inspecting the ceiling rafters. “I’ve been building up a self-sustaining city-state run on democratic elections, and I did it with nobody dying!”

Alec glared into Vaene’s eyes before the truth became laid bare: “Alright, alright, a few people died, but I did a good job covering all those ones up!”

Alec had to close his eyes in some instinctive reaction to Vaene’s speech. He quickly sent up a prayer to Dalna for patience. “You don’t even know half of it.” 

“I don’t care!” Vaene stated emphatically. He even stretched out his arms in the semblance of a hug. “If it means leaving this frozen wasteland to see other parts of the world, I will die tomorrow for the chance.” To make his point extra clear, Vaene plopped himself down on his mattress, like an anchor into a reef.

The sincerity in Vaene’s words were frightening. Alec made a split decision in his head. Involving Vaene in their quest to uncover the truth behind Illior’s prophecy could be productive. He obviously held sway over the area, and had a nearly squeaky clean reputation to swing around the townsfolk. Not to mention that being open and honest with Vaene just came naturally for him.

“I’ll have to talk to the others…”

Before Alec could finish, Vaene sprung to his feet with a giddy shout of excitement. Alec took him by the arm and sat him back down.

“Listen, because this is not a game!” Those were the magic words Vaene needed to hear, and he settled into a more attentive listening position. “It’s true we’re here to negotiate with the Hazad, but there is more at play here than just that. Do you have a Captain for your Honor Guard?”

Vaene shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have an Honor Guard.”

“Get a Captain, get an Honor Guard, organize your castle’s fucking defenses.”

“Right.” Vaene stared blankly at nothing, frozen in a thinking pose. “Where do I start with that?”

“Bilary’s balls!” Alec growled. “Summon Radbury and tell him to form an Honor Guard for you. He’ll know what to do.”

“Yeah, he will,” Vaene agreed absently, puffing from his joint. “He always just makes things up as he goes along, but he’s really good at doing that. It’s astounding, actually.”

“Vaene,” Alec started, bringing the man’s attention back to him. “I’ve been gone too long. We’ll want to talk to you more in depth tomorrow. Be ready. And I was never here tonight.”

“I got it,” Vaene spat, a bit belligerently. “I know how to handle these things.”

“Oh, and one more thing?” Alec paused just a moment, wondering if this was truly a good idea. “Could you summon Jerrium to my and Seregil’s bedchamber in an hour?”

\-----

“Who in Bilary’s Gate are you supposed to be?”

“Um… Jerrium, ser? Master, um… Baron Alec summoned me?”

Seregil looked back to Alec for confirmation. His talimenious shrugged innocently, but his devilish smirk gave the younger man’s intentions all away. Seregil squeezed his eyes shut and cried out from his throat in exasperation. He sent a prayer up to the Four the aching ass and sensitive penis he’d surely have to endure in the morning before stepping from the breach and allowing the already undressing young guard inside.

\-----

“If you’re first instinct when a crisis occurs is to run, then I’m afraid you’ve picked very bad company to associate yourself with. That rubble wasn’t going to hit you where you had originally been standing. If you hadn’t panicked, I wouldn’t have had to save you to begin with.”

Mika felt swallowed by dread and self-loathing, casting his eyes downward in shame, being proven a coward in front of his idol. A jarring strike to his jaw caused Mika to reer, and he clutched at his cheek, dumbstruck, wondering what had hit him.

“Again, you aren’t paying attention!” Alec shouted. He looked angry, very angry. But Mika couldn’t tell if it was pointed at him or at the crisis at hand. “You can’t see shit being blinded by fear! Let’s get out of here first; then we can process how and why this happened.”

Mika knew Alec was right. He quelled his tears, took a breath, and focused his attention.

\----- “You have us bow to a vagabond, foreign queen? She stands in your great hall -”

“A hall built with Skalan gold!” Vaene shouted from the throne, but Dadrid faltered only for a heartbeat.

“- Begging! She begs to stay here in your house! And you BOW to her! A woman who’s not even blooded yet! And I don’t mean with that ornamental slab of steel that no girl could lift. You admitting you’re scared of that?”

Vaene’s face twitched, but he blinked it away. Seregil could see his shoulders heave as he tried to control his temper, even going so far as to bite his own lip. Vaene continued to struggle with his composure, but spat out anyway:

“Baron Alec is our steward! He is charged by the Skalan Queen Elani to govern Ivywell -”

Dadrid did not allow him to finish. He laughed and spread his arms out theatrically towards everyone who sat in the horseshoe arena of chairs. He turned once, taking it all in with a relaxed sigh. Finally, he settled his gaze onto a silent, glowering Vaene. Dadrid sneered gleefully.

“You did a fine job here, boy,” Dadrid said with a snort and a curt nod of approval. “You did a good job... being steward. But where’s your Mycenian blood, boy? Where’d you stow it? ‘Cause it certainly ain’t beatin’ in that heart of yours.”

Seregil looked on, wondering what their new acquaintance would say to this challenge. It was obviously clear where Dadrid was steering the conversation. If Vaene didn’t take control of the situation soon, he’d likely never get a second chance. Seregil spared a conspiratorial glance at Beka, who was already trying to catch his attention with her own.

Seregil noticed Klia’s intent glare next. The three of them had been shooting nervous signals at each other for several minutes. The air was tense; Beka and Klia already had hands on their sword hilts. They were ready to fight - tooth and nail - to get Elani out safely should things turn south for them. 

“Damn it, Vaene,” Seregil swore under his breath. “You said you could handle it…”

Vaene’s grip on the throne’s armrests loosened, and his knuckles lost their white pallor. Seregil instinctively took a step backwards. Even at this distance, he could sense that Vaene had at last given up the fight against his anger. This will either turn out very good for us, Seregil thought, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, or very, very badly. 

“Lord Dadrid,” Vaene spoke up, the calm in his voice eerie. “Please return to your seat. You dishonor us and our Mycenian blood in front of guests in my House. I declare this shameful. Oh, and don’t forget to apologize to Queen Elani.”

Dadrid cast his eyes around the room again, trying to pinpoint friendly faces. Seeing enough, he exchanged his shocked expression with a jovial one. “You’re gonna give orders to me? Boy? And what if I…” Dadrid noisily pushed his chair away so that it fell with a clatter, nearly splintering the rigid timber of its frame. Bootheels booming through the marble halls, Dadrid crossed confidently to the middle of the horseshoe, staring Vaene down the entire time. “Refuse to recognize your authority?”

“Do you not see where you stand?” Vaene asked darkly, his face deceptively cold. He gestured his hand out towards the flight of stairs that separated the Gareth throne from the rest of the noble chairs. “I think it’s clear who has the authority here.”

“Is it?” Dadrid growled, the fire returning to his eyes. Without missing a beat, he stomped up each step, the sword at his side rattling at every heavy footfall. The whole room watched in silence as Dadrid advanced, gradually looming over Vaene, who remained seated. 

“Do you see where I stand?” Dadrid hissed, jabbing his finger into his chest for emphasis. Vaene could taste the mead on Dadrid’s breathe as the man panted with bloodlust inches from his face. Still, Vaene did not lift a finger to stop him.

Seregil managed to see the flicker of steel just outside of his peripheral, but his brain couldn’t register what it was or where it had come from. At first he feared it was some sort of arrow or projectile, because Dadrid hit the floor with a thud.

A ripple of excitement cascaded through the room, but was silenced just as quickly. The only persons who seemed completely unflappable were Vaene and Elani. Elani, her natural majesty and faithful trust in her honor guard, did not so much as flinch during the entire exchange. Vaene looked similarly invulnerable, sitting casually on his throne, a devilish smile spread ear to ear.

Stepping forward again, Seregil took in the whole scene at a glance. Dadrid had been felled by an unusual looking chain that had wrapped itself crushingly around his legs, jerking the man out from underneath himself. With no warning, and no time to brace against the impact, Dadrid had slapped his skull into the ground with a sickening crack. 

Seregil followed the chain back to its owner, the amazement still rushing through him. Radbury stood triumphantly, one foot resting several steps up the stairs. He looked absolutely dashing in his action pose, and Seregil assumed Radbury knew this, because the first thing out of the man’s mischievous, crooked grin was pleased cackle.

“You don’t threaten my lord,” stated Radbury, gathering up the weaponized chain back around his forearm. 

An excited murmur erupted through the hall, but Seregil ignored all that unnecessary chatter. He squinted, determined to see this course of events in its entirety.

“Dadrid, it appears you’ve fallen,” the frigid tone in Vaene’s voice snagged Dadrid’s dazed attention. His head was bleeding slightly, and he felt dizzy, but he was alive and cognizant. “And by the way,” Vaene leaned over to make sure his captive was listening. “I see exactly where you stand. Not at all.”

Dadrid’s gusto had been ripped from him, and tears of pain started down his cheeks. “My leg,” he whimpered. “My leg is broken. It’s broken.” He gingerly attempted to sit upright, but collapsed at the effort. He coughed and regurgitated some of his dinner before lying down on his back with a woozy grunt.

“Radbury, Dadrid says his leg is broken. And he appears terribly ill. Will you accompany him to a Drysian?”

“Yesser, Vaene,” Radbury grinned, giving him a knowing wink. “I’ll send for the Castle Drysian.”

“No,” Vaene said, stopping Radbury. “The Castle Drysian needs to tend after father. Give Dadrin here over to the tender care of Drysian Alderis.”

Dadrin let out a pained yelp, but his vision was still blurry and couldn’t tell which blob in the distance was the right one to beg to. He started babbling profoundly out of fear and anguish, but nobody was listening to him anymore.

“Drysian Alderis?” Radbury asked, struck by the request. “The same Drysian who tended to Lord Gareth’s spine? Vaene… he’s been crackin’ the past few years. Not the same man he used to be.”

Vaene smiled, never taking his eyes off of Dadrin. “I’m sure his fingers have lost none of their wit.” He stood and kneeled again by Dadrin’s head, resting his boot in the shallow pool of the man’s blood. “With any luck, you might be able to walk again someday,” he whispered. “In the meantime, I’ll save you a spot on the mattress next to father.”

When he stood, Vaene motioned with his hand. “Take him quickly, he’s about to pass out.” Several officers in court uniform appeared, gathering Dadrid up in their arms and lifting him gently out of the banquet hall. 

Seregil slipped his way through the crowd until he was at Radbury’s side. “Very impressive,” he complimented. “And I say that genuinely as one warrior to another.”

“You’re a flatterer, Seregil,” Radbury joked, winking. “Besides, it wasn’t ain’t even my idea. It was Vaene’s. Remind me to thank Alec for telling Vaene to assemble an Honor Guard. Made all this nastiness that much easier.”

“Really?” Seregil inquired, with no shortage of surprise. “It was Vaene’s idea to take out Dadrin before he became a political threat?”

“Well, w-” Radbury broke off, caught in his own confusion. “Nah, actually. Vaene just told me: ‘If that bastard tries to so much as touch me, I want you to break his legs.’ Yeah, so… That’s what I did.” Radburgy sniffed, and looked away awkwardly. “It’s a pleasure, Ser Seregil, but I uh… I’m going to go back to standing guard now.”

“Hop to it,” said Seregil, clapping Radbury across the back. “But don’t forget to be proud of yourself, as well. You’re going to be the toast of Ivywell tonight, I can smell it in the air.”

“Flatterer through and through,” Radbury chuckled, and he shuffled his way back nonchalantly to his post.

\-----

“I will not allow this brat - This child! - to take away in a pen stroke what I spent my entire life cultivating!” Dadrid ran out of air, his voice hoarse. The entire courtyard was a beehive of activity.

“Dadrin causing trouble again?” Queen Elani asked from the stone wall, her Honor Guard clad in full armor. She herself was dressed in lithe, leather britches and tight fitting wools held together by chain mail. She looked ferocious, and for a moment Dadrid faltered, considering going home.

Nay, he persisted, however. “It’s you!” he screamed, his intended roar more like a throaty gurgle. “I will not be disgraced by some foreign bitch with gold! I will not bow to a woman!”

“You are free to leave my domain,” Elani stated, nonplussed. 

“Fuck you!” Dadrid shouted, using his free hand to form an obscene gesture. The courtyard was well and truly quiet now. Even the chickens had grown cold and stopped clucking. 

“You are challenge me?” Elani asked, level-headedly. 

Dadrid looked around his surroundings for allies. He found none. The lone leg he stood on shook with fright. But his pride was not about to be spat on like this.

“Aye,” he said, though his voice croaked like a frog’s at the strain. 

“So be it,” Elani said. With that, she briskly turned to join the men in the courtyard.

Along the way, she had stripped away her furs, leaving only the chainmail and leather. At her side was a slim, but jeweled blade. It glittered like polished diamond in the sun, but she did not draw it.

Dadrid went for the short-sword already at his side. His confidence was bolstered by this challenge. If he could best the Skalan bitch-queen in sword a fight, he'd be the talk of the nation. Though she looked pretty, Dadrid knew that she would be trained in swordplay. Elani went to her belt and flung away the jeweled sword. Klia was there waiting, and caught it with no hesitation. There had been no fear in Elani’s mind that the expensive blade might touch the soil.

Confused, Dadrid took up a defensive stance. The icy wind was howling sporadically, and it cut into his face and head wounds. But he was not about to take whatever this girl could throw at him lightly. Not with a bad leg like he had. 

Elani held out her hand, and Klia threw her another sword. Or rather, Klia heaved it with both arms so that it sailed like some sleek, alien ship. It was the majestic Sword of Garrahlaign in all of its glory. The claymore was nearly the height of Elani herself, but she caught it single-handedly, and used the subsequent momentum to fling its ornate sheath away. That too was caught by Klia, and Elani ended her well orchestrated war dance by stabbing the tip of the sword deep into the permafrost.

Dadrid had not been impressed, however. “How’s that tiny girl gonna swing that big blade?” he puzzled under his breath. But Elani gave him no more time to think, raising the slab of steel out of the ground into a stance of her own. She dashed for him, closing the distance between the two of them in moments. Dadrid reeled back a step, but managed to raise his sword arm up in a block. Elani swung the Sword of Garrahlaign down from over her head a guillotine. Dadrid planned on throwing his body into the guard to fend off the natural weight of the blow, hoping to parry the sword away once Elani’s arms finished their arch.

But the Sword of Garrahlaign does not parry.

Despite putting what force he could muster behind the strike, Dadrid’s shortsword got caught by the innate inertia of Elani’s claymore, and it harmlessly skidded down its length into Elani’s hilt. With the force of her momentumem at her back, Elani put all of her might into the downward sword stroke.

They fell like meteors to the ground. In a resounding ring, Dadrid’s short-sword shattered under the might of Garrahlaign. Dadrid moved to pull his sword free, but the broken blade made his right side suddenly lighter, and he lost his balance. Elani adjusted her footing, balanced her center of gravity, and redirected the edge of her sword at an angle, up towards Dadrid’s wide open side.

Elani tensed her core, shouted with the effort, and swung the claymore blade-first into Dadrid’s ribcage, splitting into him like slicing into a roast. Gasping for breath, Dadrid tried to stagger on his feet, but his legs were too weak to support him any longer. He slumped into Elani’s embrace, the sword cutting deeper past his bone with his weight.

“You are not the first man I’ve blooded,” Elani growled, acidic. “You will not be the last!” With a grunt, she shoved Dadrid away from her, and he separated from her blade with a wet, slick pop. Dadrid wheezed and collapsed to his good side, clutching at his wrent, open torso. 

“When the Queen of Skala stands against a challenge,” Elani bellowed, her breath hot in the chilled air. “It is always life or death!” She planted Garrahlaign into the soil, and watered it with her victim’s blood before stomping from the courtyard. 

Klia did not leave with the other Honor Guard, but stood at attention in the courtyard for moments longer with her fellow soldiers. Nobody spoke above a hushed mumble, most of the noise coming from Dadrid’s punctured lung. Klia stood, unmoved, waiting until the bloody gurgling subsided. When the steam stopped seeping from Dadrid’s oozing side, Klia turned and motioned for her soldiers to clean up the mess.

“And be quick,” she added to her list of orders, just loudly enough that the murmurs once again subsided with curiosity. “We’ve already wasted enough time on this affair.” 

The ebb of conversation rushed back with renewed vigor, as townsfolk continued on the day, tittering to each other about the ‘butcher’ in the courtyard. 

“She carves up her own meat,” elderly grandmothers told their granddaughters. “Like a butcher! If you’re going to do something, sweetie, you’d better do it right. Just like Queen Elani.”

Seregil watched as armor clad warriors lifted the corpse and carried it away. “So much malice, to the very end,” he murmured to himself. Radbury picked his head up and cocked it to one side. “Is no one going to weep for that man?” Seregil asked sadly.

Radbury did not respond right away. He took several heartbeats to think of what he wanted to say. “Someone will, I guess,” he said at long last. “When no one else is lookin’.”

\-----

“I know whose side you’re on, Nyal,” Seregil told his captive, allowing the point of his poniard to break the skin of Nyal’s neck. 

“I understand,” Nyal replied, just as stoic as ever. 

“Then you understand why I must do this…” 

“... I do.”

Seregil kills Nyal.

Plot twist! Nyal and Seregil are talking about two entirely different things! Seregil thinks Nyal is a spy and confederate for Seriamaius, and so wants to kill him - this we as the audience also believe because Nyal’s a suspicious dude for sure, and all the evidence points to Seregil being right. Also, Nyal doesn’t object and allows himself to be murdered. That’s because Nyal does do something he feels like Seregil would kill him for. Nyal, during the camping trip with Alec and Mika, told Alec that he would always be on Alec’s side should things go south, even going so far as to say he should dump Seregil and instead accept that he is falling in love with Mika. Nyal understands this to be “betraying” Seregil and “not being on his side” and Seregil has demonstrated so far that he has become the kind of person who would kill out of jealousy and spite (esp. Since he and Nyal got long standing beef). Later, when it is confirmed that Nyal was a true and loyal ally the whole time, and Seregil killed him in cold blood, this will be one of the tipping points of Seregil in his transition towards evil. “I kill everything I love and everyone who wants to help me, so I won’t love anyone anymore, and I’ll never ask for help from anyone ever again.” 

\-----

The ultimate end plot point: Seriamaius wants Seregil. The idea came to him from Nysander, who - being dead - serves Seriamaius by default, unwillingly, but obediently. “He’s joined the feast.” Seregil is the only one who has the power inside him who can nullify magic, and if Seriamaius incarnates himself into Seregil’s body, he will naturally acquire this talent, making him more durable and harder to remove from power. His plan A is always Seregil, but that doesn’t mean his plan B isn’t serious as well. If he can’t take Seregil’s body and rule like a king, he will absorb every living mass into himself as his medium to manifest in some sort of physical form. This grotesque monstrosity is a living tumor of flesh and rotting biomaterial. Everything in it is alive and living and conscious, but immobile, glued together into one being through sinew and bone. Each individual stitched into one whole. Then, Seriamaius would be able to just pour all his power into that lightning rod of flesh, immediately taking it over as one hive mind bent to his will. Or, Seregil could allow himself to undergo a ritual that will temper his body (much like the helmet in the original book was created to channel Seriamaius’ power, only the ritual would directly affect Seregil’s body instead of through a “middleman” of some tool or ornament.) Seriamaius would just exist in Seregil’s body with Seregil, and wield all his otherworldly God powers without stipulation or restraint. Seregil, for the benefit of the world, hoping he can somehow manage to maintain his own individuality once he absorbs Seriamaius, can hold some sway over the God-Tyrant (seeing as it has been a hundred years since he last saw Alec and has lost all hope of ever getting a happy ending), gives in and undergoes the ritual of his own free will. The climax is the showdown between Seregil God-Tyrant and the newly returned “Planeswalker” Alec Two-Lives. 

\-----

Vaene's mother is actually a sorceress who inherited immense magical power from her family. Her family and the Gareths were sworn to defend Ivywell and keep guard over the secrets there. She is furious that Vaene wants nothing more than to abandon his divine duty of protecting Ivywell.

"No one suspected me! For thousands of years, those thorns grew up from the evil seed planted in that well," she said calmly. "Black, poisonous thorns that choke out all other life. But I... I am the only one... out of thousands of generations... who made the roses grow again."

Her bond with the roses and thorns convince her that she is right, and she seals Seregil, Klia, Elani, Vaene, and Radbury in a room with herself using her magic thorn powers. She is so powerful and has ancient magic bent to her will, that not even Thero can break them out again. At the same time, news comes from Plenimar that the entire country is deserted. There's not one living person for miles and miles of the coast/borders. It is later discovered that Seriamaius, for years, has been enacting his Plan B. He started with the necromancers and Emperor of Plenimar, absorbing them into one flesh, and at the point of the story where the Watcher get captured by Vaene's mother, Seriamauis has devoured every Plenimarin on the peninsula. He is now one, living, throbbing mass of screaming flesh and bone, slowly crawling its way to Skala's border.

They finally convince Vaene's mother to let them go, and she instead throws herself into the thorn-ridden well, where the audience is left to believe she's dead. But, she survived through her magic, dug up the Evil Seed from beneath the well, fucking walked to Plenimar and confronts Seriamauis there. She activates the Evil Seed, and powerful black thorns erupt and engulf Seriamauis' fleshy mass, binding him in constricting thorns so he can no longer move and threaten Skala. This buys Thero and company enough time to finish their spell, and seal Seriamaius in a shard of time.

Thero decides to lock Seriamaius away with a similar, if but more powerful spell, that sealed Rhazat on the island of Korous. Only this spell will remove the entire peninsula of Plenimar off the face of the earth. Alec, Mika, and Sebrahn are the only people who can walk the line between life and death, so they are the ones who volunteer to stay behind in Plenimar with Seriamaius to make sure he doesn't escape. Seregil and others don't want this to happen, obviously, but Alec has made up his mind to leave Seregil and live the rest of his life with Sebrahn and Mika. 

Alec, Mika, and Sebrahn, once sealed inside Plenimar's shard of time, discover that they can travel between dimensions using rips in the fabric of space-time (like they both do to travel back and forth between Rhazat's world and the real world in book seven). However, each rip in dimensions is random, and Alec, Mika, and Sebrahn spend 100 years jumping between dimensions, desperately trying to get back home. During the process, Mika ages and grows, and the two of them ultimately fall in love and become new Talimeniouses. 

All the while, the rest of our company is trying to move on with their lives, having soundly beaten Seriamaius for now. Sure, they lost their loved ones, but Thero had a vision from Illior that one day Alec, Mika, and Sebrahn would return to their plane of existence after a hundred years to save them from Seriamaius' return as Seregil God-King. 

Love conquers all. 

The end.


End file.
